COMPLETE   POEMS 

OF 

COL.  JOHN   A.  JOYCE 


Author  of  "Checkered  Life,"  "Peculiar  Poems,"  "Zig-Zag," 
"Jewels  of  Memory,"  Songs,  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY  PAUL  D.  SULLIVAN 


Washington 

THE   NEALE   COMPANY 

431  Eleventh  Street 

1900 


Copyrighted,   1900,  by  THB  NEALE  COMPANY 


PS 

73 


Be&tcatfon 

I  DEDICATE  THIS    BOOK  TO  THE  READER  WHO 

POSSESSES  THE  LEAST  POLICY  AND 

THE    MOST  PRINCIPLE 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

¥ 

MM 

Portrait  of  Col.  John  A.  Joyce frontispiece 

"  The  sexton  leant  on  his  spade" 25 

"  Our  hearts  kept  tune  together  while  kissing  o'er  the  bars"  ....  51 

"  While  chasing  butterfly  or  bee" 93 

"  Forward!  Guide  Right!  Shoot  first  in  the  fight!" 117 

"Just  see  her  in  the  waltz,  so  light  and  free!" 133 

"  Lawton't  fame  shall  live  forever" 149 

"  The  Washington  Girl" 165 

"  An'  de  darkiet  now  am  happy  all  de  day"     181 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

p,       A  Confederate  Soldier 61 

C       A  Conundrum 187 

A  Cure 123 

£:       A  Dollar  or  Two 108 

£f      A  Fireside  Memory 179 

£2       A  Friend 186 

Albion 67 

A  Memory 11 

CM       A  Memory 43 

JJ       Among  the  Hills 183 

A  Prophesy 156 

f|  •     A  Soldier's  Death 131 

A  True  Bill 39 

Boast  Not 187 

.       Bobby  Burns 128 

3       By  the  Sea 3 

X,       Christmas  Eve 47 

§       Crape  on  the  Door 147 

Decoration  Day  Poem 68 

£j       Decoration  Day  Poem 73 

3       Decoration  Poem 57 

^       Dewey 55 

Don't     41 

Don't  Gamble  in  Stocks 158 

vii 


44729 


• 


risi 

Dross 33 

Duplicity 39 

Envy      136 

Erin 86 

Expanding 54 

Far  Down  the  Lane 178 

Farewell 8 

Fatality     143 

Fettered 36 

First  Kisses     164 

Flitting 37 

Flora  Lee 92 

Flowers  of  Hope 21 

Forgetting 23 

Forty  Years 14 

Forward! 116 

General  Garcia 140 

Genius 56 

Genius 151 

God  is  Near 53 

Golden  Hair 18 

Gone 44 

Grant  's  Mustered  Out 76 

Hancock 110 

Have  the  Robins  Come? 46 

Hope  On 114 

How  You  Feel 30 

Hurrah! 76 

Hurrah  for  Cuba!     91 

Hurrah  for  Dave  Henderson ! 153 

Hurrah  for  the  Boers ! 48 

"  I  Have  Sinned  and  I  Have  Suffered  " 18 

I  'm  Lonesome 105 

Independence     81 


PAGE 

In  the  Library 130 

I  Walk  Alone 1 

Katie  and  I 17 

Kentucky 71 

Kissing  O'er  the  Bars 50 

Laughing  Voices 141 

Laugh  On 42 

Lawton      148 

Let  Me  Rest 186 

Let 's  Drink  To-Night 191 

Life 34 

"Lion" 98 

Lindalou 10 

Lord  Byron Ill 

Lost 137 

Love 12 

Love 46 

Love  and  Laughter 2 

Lovers  Once 155 

Lynching 102 

Madame  De  Stael 125 

Marie 147 

Masonic  Bright  Light 175 

Mattievan 132 

Mazy 9 

My  Baby's  Eyes 20 

My  Belief 32 

My  Country 76 

My  Home 140 

My  Love 135 

My  Old  Flag 167 

My  War-Horse,  "  Bob  " 176 

Napoleon 115 

Nature's  God  .  38 


PACK 

Night  and  Day 101 

Nora 155 

Now  and  Then 142 

Obituary  Pathos 104 

Ocean  Memories 16 

O'er  the  Embers 11 

Oh!   Helen! 151 

01'  Kentucky  Home 180 

Old  Friends 45 

Our  Starry  Banner 77 

Peace  Jubilee 97 

Poe 128 

Pork  in  Power 106 

Question  and  Answer 4 

Rawlins 78 

"Remember  the  Maine" 77 

Rest 125 

Rest 188 

Sacrifice 23 

Salutatory 138 

Secret  Love     4 

Shadows  on  the  Wall 189 

Shakespeare 160 

Shall  We  Live  Again? 49 

Sherman 88 

Sir  Moses  Montefiore 163 

Stanton     81 

Stephen  Collins  Foster 129 

Sweet  Lizzie 143 

Sweet  Sixteen     159 

Tear  Down  the  Flag! 85 

Ten  Years 44 

The  Attorney-at-Law 171 

The  Battle  of  Shiloh 61 


PAGE 

The  Blue  and  the  Gray 97 

The  Boast  of  Bacchus 177 

The  Bridge 161 

The  Busybody 157 

The  Celestial  City 31 

The  Cricket 6 

The  Day  is  Done 31 

The  Dead  of  the  Maine 84 

The  Exile 53 

The  Farmer .  122 

The  Fatherland 6 

The  Fire  Bells 99 

The  "  Has  Beens  " 152 

The  Hog 192 

The  Jew 15 

The  Leaves  Are  Falling 2 

The  Lost  Atlantis 190 

The  Men  Behind  the  Guns 72 

The  Morning  Glory 42 

The  Night 101 

The  Ocean  Grave 13 

The  Old  Homestead 7 

The  Old  Soldiers 80 

The  Original  Toast 124 

The  Philosopher's  Dream 37 

The  Private  Secretary 161 

The  Rain 103 

The  Rocks  in  the  River 146 

The  Sea 136 

The  Senate  Chaplain 127 

"The  Sermon" 22 

The  Sexton 24 

The  Soldier .   .       82 

The  Soul  .  122 


The  Storm 99 

The  Story  of  the  Sage 27 

The  Sunbeam 21 

The  Sutler 65 

The  Voice  of  the  Clock 13 

The  Washington  Girl 164 

The  Whispering  Trees 175 

There  's  No  Pocket  in  a  Shroud ! 174 

Toll  the  Bell 0 

Trappings  of  Clay 1C2 

True  Love 19 

Uncle  Sam 83 

Unknown 184 

Vain  Little  Man 124 

Vain  Man 47 

Vanity 65 

Victor  Hugo 193 

Waiting 107 

Walter  M.  Moreland 127 

Washington     129 

Washington  Monument 168 

Wedding  Bells 173 

Webster 126 

What  I  Love 34 

When  ? 107 

When  I  Am  Dead 15 

Where  is  God  To-Day? 192 

Wyoming  Valley 172 

Zeus   .  100 


COMPLETE    POEMS 

.  .  OF  .  . 

COL.  JOHN  A.  JOYCE 


I   WALK   ALONE. 

[Dedicated  to  Gen.  John  B.  Henderson,  Yoeemite  Valley,  July  4,  1874.1 

I  walk  alone  where  morning  beams  are  shining, 
And  winds  are  blowing  o'er  the  stormy  sea  ; 

I  look  aloft  and  see  a  silver  lining 
That  thrills  my  soul  with  thoughts  of  Deity. 

I  walk  alone  where  evening  shadows  lower, 
Peering  through  the  crimson  clouds  of  fate  ; 

My  heart  beats  out  the  lagging,  weary  hour, 
Repeating  to  my  soul  —  too  late,  too  late. 

I  walk  alone  where  mountain  streams  are  leaping, 
And  snow-capped  summits  reach  unto  the  sky, 

And  still  my  nightly,  silent  watch  I  'm  keeping, 
Gazing  into  worlds  beyond  that  never  die. 

I  walk  alone  the  rugged  road  of  life, 
Where  human  "  May-flies  "  flutter,  fly,  and  fall  ; 

I  battle  still  with  everlasting  strife  — 
Ambition,  glory,  and  the  grave  —  that's  all  ! 


THE  LEAVES  ARE   FALLING. 
[Dedicated  to  Hon.  William  B.  Allison,  Iowa,  November.  18M.] 

The  leaves  are  falling,  I  hear  you  calling 
From  out  the  years  that  slumber  in  the  past. 

Asleep  or  waking,  my  heart  is  breaking 
For  one  sweet  love  that  thrills  it  to  the  last. 

The  leaves  are  sailing,  and  I  'm  bewailing 
The  lost  affections  of  my  vanished  youth, 

When  friends  were  nearer,  and  hearts  were  dearer, 
And  life  was  in  the  heaven  of  their  truth. 

The  leaves  are  flying,  the  winds  are  sighing, 
And  Nature  in  her  garb  of  green  and  gray 

Makes  many  changes  o'er  hills  and  ranges  — 
A  bride  of  beauty  in  her  autumn  day. 

Along  the  hours,  in  golden  showers, 
The  leaves  are  falling  over  hill  and  dale ; 

Their  ranks  are  broken  — a  voiceless  token 
That  we  shall  follow  down  the  fading  vale 
And  perish  like  the  leaves  blown  by  the  gale  ! 


LOVE  AND  LAUGHTER. 

[Dedicated  to  George  D.  Prentice,  1863.] 

Laugh,  and  the  world  laughs  with  you ; 

Weep,  and  you  weep  alone  ; 
This  grand  old  earth  must  borrow  its  mirth, 

It  has  troubles  enough  of  its  own. 
Sing,  and  the  hills  will  answer ; 

Sigh,  it  is  lost  on  the  air ; 
The  echoes  bound  to  a  joyful  sound 

But  shrink  from  voicing  care. 


Be  glad,  and  your  friends  are  many ; 

Be  sad,  and  you  lose  them  all ; 
There  are  none  to  decline  your  nectared  wine, 

But  alone  you  must  drink  life's  gall. 
There  is  room  in  the  halls  of  pleasure 

For  a  long  and  a  lordly  train, 
But  one  by  one  we  must  all  file  on 

Through  the  narrow  aisles  of  pain. 

Feast,  and  your  halls  are  crowded ; 

Fast,  and  the  world  goes  by ; 
Succeed  and  give,  't  will  help  you  live ; 

But  no  one  can  help  you  die. 
Rejoice,  and  men  will  seek  you  ; 

Grieve,  and  they  turn  and  go  — 
They  want  full  measure  of  all  your  pleasure, 

But  they  do  not  want  your  woe ! 


BY  THE  SEA. 

I  am  standing  by  the  sea, 
And  I  listen  to  the  roar 

Of  the  mighty  ocean 
As  it  breaks  against  the  shore. 

I  think  of  Now  and  Then, 
And  long  for  evermore 

To  taste  of  living  wine 
On  God's  eternal  shore. 

I  see  the  breaker  coming, 
With  a  petrel  on  its  crest ; 

I  plunge  into  the  billow, 
Wildly  crying,  "  Here  is  rest ! " 


SECRET    LOVE. 
[Dedicated  to  MtesE.  R.  G.] 

You  have  lived  in  my  heart  year  after  year, 
And  the  secret  I  never  have  told  ; 

J  think  of  you  now  with  joy  and  with  fear, 
But  you  're  haughty,  and  heartless,  and  cold. 

My  nature  is  honest,  loving  and  true, 
Yet  I  sigh  in  the  depths  of  my  soul 

For  one  word  of  love  that  will  bring  me  to  you, 
My  ideal,  my  fate,  and  my  goal. 

My  love  may  be  crushed  with  your  coldness, 
And  my  heart  may  be  withered  by  care, 

But  I  never  can  tell  you  with  boldness 
Of  the  love  that  I  secretly  bear. 

I  see  you  in  crowds  shining  brightly, 
And  my  soul  swells  with  pride  at  your  fame ; 

Every  word  in  your  praise,  though  so  slightly, 
Thrills  my  heart  at  the  sound  of  your  name. 

And  you  never  will  know  of  my  weeping, 
Nor  the  love  that  I  coyly  enshrine ; 

For  daily  and  nightly  I  'm  keeping 
Precious  thoughts  that  can  only  be  mine. 

¥+ 

QUESTION  AND  ANSWER. 

QUESTION. 

Will  you  love  me,  darling  Katie, 
When  my  steps  are  weak  and  slow  ? 

Will  you  love  me  ever  truly, 
Through  the  vale  of  joy  and  woe  ? 


Will  you  love  me  when  the  world 
Frowns,  and  looks  with  scorning  eye  ? 

Will  you  love  me  till  the  moment 
When  I  heave  the  parting  sigh  ? 

Will  you  love  me  when  I  'm  gone, 
As  you  love  me  now  while  here  ? 

Will  your  heartbeats  ever  linger 
On  my  name  throughout  the  year  ? 

Will  you  love  me  in  the  springtime  ? 

Will  you  love  me  in  the  fall  ? 
Can  I  count  on  you  in  winter 

When  the  snow  hangs  over  all  ? 


I  shall  love  you  in  misfortune, 
With  all  my  heart  and  soul ; 

I  shall  never  cease  to  love  thee 
While  the  stars  around  me  roll. 

Then,  darling,  never  doubt  me ; 

In  the  turns  of  time  so  strange 
My  star  of  love  shall  never  set, 

My  heart  shall  never  change. 

But  life  and  love  I  '11  give  thee  — 
Thy  bride  in  truth  was  cast ; 

My  heart  and  soul,  fondly  thine  — 
Dear,  darling,  to  the  last. 

Yes,  Willie,  I  shall  love  thee 
When  your  locks  are  growing  gray 

I  shall  love  you  in  December 
With  the  love  I  gave  in  May ! 


THE  FATHERLAND. 

[To  mein  frau.] 

I  will  drink  to  my  own  Fatherland, 
To  the  crags  and  the  vales  of  the  Rhine, 

Where  the  rugged  old  castles  still  stand, 
And  the  hills  blush  with  grape  and  with  wine. 

'T  is  there,  in  the  morning  of  childhood, 

I  wandered  as  free  as  a  fawn  ; 
And  echoes  I  heard  in  the  wildwood 

Were  pure  as  the  dew  and  the  dawn. 

The  landscape  and  Black  Forest  mountain 

Are  pictured  in  memory  by  me, 
And  every  Rhine  rock  and  fair  fountain 

Sings  the  song  of  the  fatal  Lorelei ! 


THE  CRICKET. 

Little  cricket,  standing  picket 

Near  the  blazing  hearth, 
Chirping  lightly,  blithe  and  brightly, 

Whence  thy  early  birth  ? 

Sing  away,  my  little  cricket, 

Time  is  on  the  wing  — 
Live  the  hours  in  warm  bowers 

Chirping  in  the  spring. 

Who  can  tell  the  nameless  longing 

In  thy  sable  crest  ? 
Who  can  tell  the  thoughts  now  thronging 

In  the  cricket's  breast  ? 


THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD. 

t  gaze  on  my  old  ruined  homestead  to-day 
Through  the  tears  of  a  wild,  vanished  youth ; 

I  see  the  broad  porches  gone  down  to  decay 
Where  my  mother  instilled  every  truth. 

The  chimney  has  crumbled  away  in  the  blast, 

And  the  rafters  have  all  tumbled  down ; 
The  hearthstone  brings  back  all  the  joys  of  the  past 

As  the  clouds  in  the  west  darkly  frown. 

The  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  has  gone  dry, 
And  the  apple  and  plum  trees  have  gone ; 

I  stand  in  the  gloom  as  the  winds  deeply  sigh  — 
See  the  ghosts  of  my  friends  one  by  one. 

Here,  my  mother  and  father  sleep  side  by  side 

In  a  nook  on  the  top  of  the  hill ; 
Where  my  heart  was  as  light  as  the  foam  on  the  tide 

When  I  sauntered  about  the  old  mill 

That  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  creek,  down  the  lane, 

Where  it  rumbled  its  musical  flow ; 
But  alas !    I  shall  never  play  there  again 

As  I  played  in  the  sweet  long  ago. 

The  woodpecker  drums  o'er  my  head  on  the  oak 

And  the  gray  squirrel  chatters  his  tune, 
But  where  are  the  schoolmates  whose  sport  and  whose  joke 

Thrilled  my  heart  in  the  play-spell  at  noon? 

Some  are  "gone  o'er  the  ranges  "  to  sleep  in  the  vale ; 

Like  myself,  some  have  wandered  afar  — 
Blown  about  like  a  leaf  in  a  withering  gale 

Or  attuned  like  a  broken  guitar. 


By  the  last  ray  of  sunset  I  Badly  behold 

The  old  ruined  home  of  my  youth, 
Where  the  jessamine  clambered  in  colors  of  tr<>ld. 

And  the  voices  I  heard  spoke  the  truth. 

Farewell  to  the  scenes  and  the  friends  that  I  knew 
In  the  morning  of  life,  bright  and  fair — 

My  heart  shall  forever  commingle  with  you 
And  my  spirit  shall  always  be  there ! 


FAREWELL. 

Farewell !  farewell !    My  heart  is  sad  and  lonely. 

While  sailing  o'er  life's  surging,  stormy  sea ; 
My  soul-lit  thoughts  are  centered  in  thee  only  — 

The  sweetest  being  in  my  memory. 

Farewell !  farewell !    The  secret  of  my  longing 
Can  not  be  told  to  those  of  common  clay  — 

Yet,  from  the  past  your  plighted  vows  come  thronging. 
And  thrill  me  with  a  love  that  could  not  stay. 

Farewell  !  farewell !    My  bark  is  on  the  billow 
That  hastens  onward  to  a  foreign  shore  ; 

I  fain  would  rest  upon  a  fevered  pillow, 
And  still  my  weary  soul  forever  more. 

Farewell !  farewell !    Another  hand  shall  lead  thee. 

Another  heart  has  won  the  prize  I  sought ; 
Why,  oh,  why  could  you  rebuke,  deceive  me, 

And  leave  me  lonely  with  this  killing  thought ! 

Farewell  !  farewell !    Thus  we  are  doomed  to  sever, 
And  break  the  tie  that  bound  us  to  the  past ; 

Yet  in  my  heart,  forever  and  forever, 
I  '11  keep  your  sainted  image  to  the  last. 


MAZY. 

^he  sleeps  on  the  hill  near  the  crumbling  mill- 

And  my  mind  is  nearly  crazy 
When  I  note  the  hours  and  faded  flowers 

Gone  with  the  sun  and  the  daisy. 

Through  the  orchard  wild,  as  a  loving  child, 

She  sported  long  in  the  clover  ; 
And  the  blossoms  free  from  the  apple-tree, 

She  heaped  on  her  pet  dog,  Rover. 

The  bees  she  chased,  in  her  laughing  haste, 
In  the  fields  and  nooks  so  sunny  ; 

With  roses  red  she  decked  her  head  — 
And  life  was  sweet  as  honey. 

A  few  more  years  —  a  few  more  tears  — 

Will  waft  me  away  to  Mazy ; 
And  I  shall  sleep  where  willows  weep 

By  her  side,  'neath  the  blooming  daisy. 


TOLL  THE  BELL. 

Toll  the  bell  slowly;  meekly  and  lowly 
There  comes  an  inanimate  clod, 

Sleeping  forever  beyond  the  dark  river  — 
A  mortal  has  gone  to  his  God. 

Toll  the  bell  faintly ;  echoes  so  saintly 
Are  sounding  o'er  river  and  lea, 

Telling  the  living  all  need  forgiving 
Before  God  and  eternity. 

Toll  the  bell  lightly ;  daily  and  nightly 
A  spirit  is  watching  for  thee, 


One  that  has  loved  us,  one  that  has  proved  UP, 
Some  fond  soul  who  loved  you  and  me. 

Toll  the  bell  sadly  ;  heart-broken,  madly 

We  kiss  the  cold  Iip8  of  the  dead, 
With  hope,  love,  and  tears,  run  back  o'er  the  years 

To  pluck  out  some  cruel  word  said. 


LINDALOU. 

[Dedicated  to  Hon.  8.  S.  Cox,  late  Minister  to  Turkey.] 

I  drink  to  the  light  of  the  harem, 
As  lithe  as  a  classical  faun, 

A  soft  scintillation  of  pleasure, 
A  beautiful  creature  of  dawn, 
And  frail  as  the  dew  on  the  lawn. 

I  sing  to  the  light  of  the  harem, 
As  she  glides  through  the  gilded  saloon, 

And  floats  like  a  sylph  o'er  a  zephyr, 
Who  leaves  me  in  sorrow  too  soon 
When  passion  has  reached  its  high  noon  ! 

I  sigh  for  the  light  of  the  harem, 

A  sunbeam  of  magical  hue, 
A  beauty,  the  rarest  and  fairest, 

The  pride  of  the  Sultan  —  Boohoo  ! 

My  royal  coquette,  Lindalou. 

1  live  in  the  light  of  the  harem, 
And  bask  'neath  those  beautiful  eyes, 

Recline  on  rich  Ottoman  velvets 
To  gaze  on  the  Bosphorus  skies, 
Lindalou  and  her  sweet  paradise. 


10 


A  MEMORY. 

[Dedicated  to  DeLancy  Gill.] 

Adown  the  vanished  years  where  memory  lingers 
There  comes  to  me  a  picture  from  the  past, 

And  round  her  brow  I  see  fond  fairy  fingers 
Entwining  rarest  roses  to  the  last. 

Her  laughing  voice  could  banish  every  sorrow, 
Her  sunny  smile  was  all  the  world  to  me  — 

Yet  vainly  from  the  past  I  try  to  borrow 
Her  presence  from  that  dark  eternity. 

It  must  be  that  beyond  the  stars  now  shining 
She  waits  and  watches  for  my  coming  call  ; 

For  oft  in  dreams  my  weary  head  reclining, 
Upon  her  bosom  finds  its  sweet  enthrall. 


O'ER  THE  EMBERS. 

O'er  the  embers  of  departed  pleasure 
I  ponder  lonely  on  the  days  no  more, 

And  think  of  loved  ones  that  I  fondly  treasure 
Who  've  long  since  landed  on  the  other  shore. 

Their  image  beams  from  out  the  smoldering  fire, 
Where  memory  holds  her  banquet  to  the  last  ; 

Their  voices  vibrate  on  the  golden  lyre 
That  links  the  passing  present  with  the  past. 

Again  I  hear  their  songs  of  bliss  and  beauty, 
Their  merry  laughter  and  their  joyous  glee, 

When  all  was  truth  and  hope  and  duty, 
And  Life  and  Love  were  all  the  world  to  me. 


11 


And  though  the  snowe  of  many  a  cruel  winter 
Have  fallen  thickly  o'er  my  bending  head, 

And  Time  upon  my  brow  has  been  a  printer, 
I  still  must  cherish  the  dear,  sainted  dead. 

Well  !  I  '11  cover  up  the  embers  with  the  ashe? 

Of  fruitless  efforts  that  have  passed  away, 
And  linger  on  the  lights  that  memory  flashes 

Aoroti?  the  fields  now  barren,  bleak,  and  gray. 


LOVE. 

Clasp  me  to  your  warm  embrace  ; 

Take  me  to  your  loving  heart  ; 
I^et  me  feel  your  velvet  face, 

Breast  to  breast,  and  heart  to  heart. 

Nevermore  to  pine  or  part. 

In  your  eyes  my  heaven  is  shining  — 
Golden  sunlight  is  your  hair  ; 

All  my  clouds  have  silver  lining 
While  your  spirit  hovers  there, 
And  I  see  you  everywhere. 

As  the  river  to  the  ocean, 
And  the  brooklet  to  the  sea, 

So  my  soul  throbs  with  emotion,— 
All  its  currents  turn  to  thee, 
Faithful  to  eternity. 

Thrill  me  with  your  passion  kisses  ; 
Fill  me  with  a  nameless  joy  ; 

Earth  has  no  such  cherished  blisses, 
Pleasure  that  we  can't  destroy, 
Virgin  gold  without  alloy  ! 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CLOCK. 

[Dedicated  to  Derwin  De  Forest,  of  New  York. 

Tick,  tick,  the  moments  fly, 
Tick,  tick,  we  live  and  die. 
Tick,  tick,  goes  the  hour, 
Tick,  tick,  fades  the  flower. 

Tick,  tick,  heartbeats  go, 
Tick,  tick,  weal  or  woe. 
Tick,  tick,  soon  are  fled, 
Tick,  tick,  lost  and  dead. 

Tick,  tick,  days  and  years, 
Tick,  tick,  smiles  and  tears. 
Tick,  tick,  wind  and  wave, 
Tick,  tick,  grief,  the  grave. 

¥¥ 


THE  OCEAN  GRAVE. 

Let  me  rest  in  the  boundless  ocean, 
Where  the  storm-king  rules  the  wave, 

Where  waters  are  ever  in  motion 
Above  a  limitless  grave. 

Let  me  rest  where  the  roaring  billow 
Resounds  o'er  the  waters  wide, 

A  dirge  o'er  my  coral  pillow, 
A  song  for  my  mermaid  bride. 

Let  me  rest  where  the  evening  twilight 

Mellows  the  parting  day, 
Where  the  sea-birds  flit  in  the  moonlight 

Through  breakers  of  blue  and  gray. 


18 


Let  me  sink  where  the  sands  are  shining 
On  the  surf  of  a  lonely  shore, 

Where  the  clouds  have  a  silver  lining 
And  there  's  rest  for  evermore. 


FORTY  YEARS. 

[A  memory  of  Mount  Sterling,  Ky.] 

Forty  years  are  gone  to-morrow 
Since  these  streams  and  hills  I  knew 

Forty  years  of  joy  and  sorrow 
Bring  me  back,  dear  hills,  to  you. 

Many  friends  I  loved  are  sleeping 
On  the  crest  of  yonder  hill  ; 

'Neath  the  willows  gently  weeping, 
Near  the  sound  of  Perry's  mill. 

Beaux  and  beauties  that  I  cherished 
Left  me  in  their  early  bloom, 

Yet  their  memory  never  perished 
With  the  blight  that  blurs  the  tomb. 

Raven  locks  no  more  are  shining  ; 

Lost  and  gone  the  flowers  of  May  ; 
Yet  how  vain  is  all  repining 

In  my  crown  of  silver  gray. 

Vanished  voices  in  the  twilight 
Float  above  the  hill  and  plain  ; 

Call  me  fondly  to  the  skylight, 
Thrill  my  heart  with  love  again. 


14 


THE  JEW. 

[Dedicated  to  the  fair  Hebrew  ladies.] 

The  wild  ivy  vine  of  old  Palestine 

Creeps  over  its  temples  and  towers 
And  leaves  but  a  trace  of  the  historic  race 

That  once  filled  its  beautiful  bowers. 

Yet  age  after  age  on  every  page 

Of  the  record  of  love  and  of  life, 
The  Hebrew  appears  to  bloom  o'er  the  years 

And  soars  over  sorrow  and  strife. 

Though  crushed  and  reviled,  defeated,  despoiled, 

The  seed  of  the  martyrs  abound, 
And  all  o'er  the  earth  where  mortals  have  birth 

The  Jew  and  the  Jewess  are  found. 

In  science  and  art  they  each  take  a  part, 

And  labor  for  liberty,  too ; 
The  tyrant  they  hate  in  church  or  in  state, 

And  freedom  they  always  pursue. 

Success  to  the  Jew,  the  wandering  Hebrew, 
Who  never  was  known  to  despair ; 

In  bondage  or  chains,  in  losses  or  pains, 
His  face  can  be  seen  everywhere. 

MP 

WHEN  I  AM  DEAD. 

When  I  am  dead  let  no  vain  pomp  display 
A  surface  sorrow  o'er  my  pulseless  clay, 
But  all  the  dear  old  friends  I  loved  in  life 
Can  shed  a  tear,  console  my  child  and  wife. 


15 


When  I  am  dead  let  strangers  pass  me  by, 

Nor  ask  a  reason  for  the  how  or  why 

That  brought  my  wandering  life  to  praise  or  shame, 

Or  marked  me  for  the  fading  flowers  of  fame. 

When  I  am  dead  the  vile  assassin  tongue 
Will  try  and  banish  all  the  lies  it  filing, 
And  make  amends  for  all  ite  cruel  wrong 
In  fulsome  praise  and  eulogistic  song. 

When  I  am  dead,  what  matters  to  the  crowd  ? 
The  world  will  rattle  on  as  long  and  loud, 
And  each  one  in  the  game  of  life  will  plod 
The  field  to  glory  and  the  way  to  God. 

When  I  am  dead  some  sage  for  self-renown 
May  urn  my  ashes  in  his  native  town, 
And  give,  when  I  am  cold,  and  lost,  and  dead, 
A  marble  slab,  where  once  I  needed  bread. 


OCEAN    MEMORIES. 

[A  San  Francisco  souvenir.] 

Years  have  gone  by  since  we  met  by  the  sea. 
The  kiss  that  you  gave,  love,  lingers  with  me 
Thrills  in  my  heart  like  an  angelic  tune, 
Perfume  distilled  from  the  roses  of  June, 
Silvery  light  from  the  face  of  the  moon. 

Lulled  to  repose  by  moan  of  the  ocean, 
Clasped  in  a  thrill  of  blissful  emotion, 
Sunlight  and  starlight  we  catch  but  a  gleam  ; 
The  world  is  afloat  —  we  live  in  a  dream, 
And  things  are  not  surely  all  that  they  seem. 


it; 


Your  secret  and  gem  I  still  fondly  keep 
So  close  to  my  heart,  awake  or  asleep  ; 
The  world  has  no  treasure  dearer  to  me; 
Unpurchased,  unsought,  love  without  fee, 
Was  that  soul-thrilling  gift  down  by  the  sea. 

Absent  and  lonely  my  soul  flies  to  thee, 
Back  to  the  shore  of  that  sweet  summer  sea  — 
A  land  where  the  vine  and  the  orange  doth  bloom, 
And  silver  and  gold  its  mountains  entomb  — 
A  paradise  planted,  rich  with  perfume. 

Sadly  I  sigh  for  your  loving  embrace ; 
Fancy  awakens  the  light  of  your  face ; 
Out  through  the  mists  of  yon  echoless  shore 
Angels  are  calling  my  lost,  loved  Lacore  — 
Sighing  I  pine  for  your  love  evermore ! 


KATIE  AND  I. 

[Suggested  by  my  wife.] 

Katie  and  I  sat  singing,  singing 

As  the  moon  went  down  ; 
While  bells  were  loudly  ringing,  ringing 

In  the  far-off  town. 

Katie  and  I  sat  thinking,  thinking 

Of  the  long  ago ; 
Sweet  baby  fingers  lightly  linking 

Memories  under  snow. 

Katie  and  I  soon  sleeping,  sleeping 

'Neath  the  silent  sod  ; 
Our  spirits  fondly  greeting,  greeting 

Children,  rest,  and  God. 


17 


GOLDEN   HAIR. 
[Dedicated  to  Emily  Thornton  Charles.] 

Only  a  lock  of  golden  hair 
That  I  gaze  on  with  ceaseless  pain, 

Worn  by  an  image  pure  and  fair, 
That  never  shall  bless  me  again. 

She  went  like  the  mist  of  morning 

To  shine  with  the  stars  above, 
A  beautiful,  chaste  adorning 

In  a  realm  of  endless  love. 

Yet  often  when  evening  twilight 
Encircles  my  heart  with  gloom 

I  hear  her  voice  from  the  starlight 
That  sparkles  within  my  room. 

And  I  see  through  the  mystic  moonbeams 

Her  form  so  rare  and  fair, 
A  radiant  light  from  Heaven  so  bright, 

With  tresses  of  golden  hair. 

Mi 

"  I  HAVE  SINNED  AND  I  HAVE  SUFFERED." 
[Last  words  of  John  Howard  Payne,  author  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home."] 

I  have  sinned  and  I  have  suffered, 
Yet  the  world  will  never  know 

How  I  tried  to  do  my  duty 
In  the  long,  the  long  ago. 

I  have  sinned  and  I  have  suffered, 

Human  nature  is  so  weak  — 
Yet  my  tongue  can  not  be  tempted 

To  disclose,  betray,  or  speak. 

18 


I  have  sinned  and  I  have  suffered, 
Who  has  not  through  blood  and  bone  ? 

If  there  be  a  mortal  living, 
Let  him  bravely  cast  the  stone. 

I  have  sinned  and  I  have  suffered, 

Just  the  same  as  other  men, 
But  my  heart  can  not  be  conquered, 

Nor  the  soul  that  burns  within. 

I  have  sinned  and  I  have  suffered, 
Mournful  memories  come  to  me ; 

Yet  beyond  the  clouds  of  sorrow 
Rifts  of  sunshine  I  can  see. 

I  have  sinned  and  I  have  suffered, 
He  can  sink  and  He  can  save 

All  the  human  hearts  that  wander 
To  the  cold  and  silent  grave. 


TRUE  LOVE. 

Love  that  needs  a  daily  nursing 
Is,  to  my  heart,  none  at  all ; 

All  its  blessings  are  but  cursing 
To  the  soul  that  asks  it  all. 

Love  that  lives  for  gold  and  fashion 
Is  as  hollow  as  the  sphere  — 

Only  thrives  with  pounds  and  passion, 
Fooling  thee  from  year  to  year. 

Love  that  changes  with  the  morrow 
Is  as  fickle  as  the  air— 


19 


Fleeing  far,  in  pain  and  sorrow  — 
False  and  cruel  everywhere. 

Love  that  can't  endure  the  winter 
And  the  adverse  race  of  life, 

IB  a  poor,  ignoble  sprinter— 
A  pretender  in  the  strife. 

Give  me  only  her  that  lingers 
Over  every  storm  and  wave, 

Whose  devoted,  faithful  fingers, 
Scatters  roses  o'er  my  grave. 


MY  BABY'S  EYES. 
[To  Florence.] 

My  baby's  eyes  in  melting  blue 
Are  beaming  bright  as  morning  dew, 
And  from  the  sky  light  take  a  hue, 
Or  like  the  star  light  bright  and  true. 

My  baby's  eyes  in  liquid  roll 
Enhance  my  world  from  pole  to  pole, 
And  love  sits  smiling  in  that  goal 
Forever  speaking  to  my  soul. 

My  baby's  eyes  in  other  years 
May  fill  with  many  scalding  tears, 
And  yet  through  cruel  taunts  and  jeers 
A  parent's  love  will  banish  fears. 

My  baby's  eyes  in  blight  or  bloom, 
Those  glorious  orbs  in  grief  or  gloom, 
Shall  be  to  me,  in  death  or  doom, 
The  dearest  diamonds  of  the  tomb. 


20 


THE  SUNBEAM. 

A  beautiful  beam  came  into  my  cell 

Fresh  from  the  eye  of  Jehovah,  to  tell 

That  bolts  and  bars  can  not  keep  out  the  light 

Of  truth  and  justice,  of  mercy  and  right ; 

It  checkered  the  flags  through  the  iron  door, 

And  danced  in  the  shadows  that  kissed  the  floor, 

And  loitered  about  in  a  friendly  way, 

Until  beckoned  back  at  the  close  of  day — 

When  out  of  the  window  it  flew  on  high, 

And  hastened  back  to  its  home  in  the  sky. 

I  followed  the  beautiful  beam  to  rest, 

To  a  sea  of  light  in  the  golden  west ; 

It  dropped  to  sleep  on  the  dark  blue  sea 

And  left  me  the  sweetest  memory. 

I  turned  to  my  soul  for  calm  relief, 

Balm  to  my  wound,  a  check  to  my  grief— 

When  visions  of  glory  shone  from  above 

Where  the  light  is  God,  and  God  is  love ! 

¥¥ 

FLOWERS  OF  HOPE. 
[Dedicated  to  M.  J.  Murphy.] 

The  sweetest  flowers  of  golden  hours 

Must  fade  and  pass  away ; 
But  love  or  truth,  of  age  or  youth, 

Shall  never  know  decay. 

The  hills  are  gray.    Old  Time  won't  stay, 

But  keeps  upon  the  wing ; 
Its  flight  of  years  bring  smiles  and  tears 

To  peasant,  prince,  and  king. 


Dear  friends,  depart ;  and  leave  the  heart  - 

A  ruin  old  and  lone  — 
With  nothing  here,  from  year  to  year, 

Which  it  can  call  its  own. 

Yet,  o'er  the  gloom  beyond  the  tomb, 

Where  Hope  can  only  see, 
There  is  a  rest  among  the  blessed, 

And  joy  for  you  and  me. 


"THE  SERMON." 

The  sermon  I  heard  in  the  woods  to-day 

Was  the  grandest  I  ever  heard  — 
A  chorus  of  Nature,  and  love-lit  lay, 

Of  the  Cricket,  the  Bee,  and  the  Bird  I 

And  the  prayer  was  Truth,  and  the  text  was  Love, 
And  the  pew-holders  ferns  and  flowers, 

That  raised  their  heads  to  their  God  above 
As  they  sweetened  the  fleeting  hours  1 

And  the  pulpit  was  rock,  and  cliff  and  hills, 
And  the  preachers  were  giant  trees  — 

While  the  organ  tones  were  the  sounding  rills 
That  rolled  on  the  balmy  breeze ! 

And  those  forest  aisles  in  the  morning  light 
Filled  my  soul  with  a  nameless  glow  — 

And  visions  of  beauty  beaming  and  bright 
That  I  cherished  so  long  ago ! 

22 


SACRIFICE. 

T  is  hard  to  plant  and  never  reap  a  sheaf; 

'T  is  hard  to  smile  through  tears  of  anguished  grief; 

But  harder  still  to  love  and  love  in  vain, 

And  nurse  for  life  the  secret,  scorching  pain. 

'T  is  hard  to  toil  for  glory  and  for  fame, 
'T  is  hard  to  fight  and  win  a  lasting  name, 
But  harder  still  to  work  for  ingrate  friends 
Who  only  know  their  sordid  aims  and  ends. 

'T  is  hard  to  lead  a  high  and  noble  life 
Among  the  human  gnats  of  worldly  strife  ; 
But  harder  still  to  sacrifice  yourself 
For  those  who  pander  to  the  power  of  pelf  I 


FORGETTING. 

The  friends  that  I  loved  in  December 
And  cherished  so  fondly  in  May, 

Have  long  since  forgot  to  remember, 
And  vanished  like  dewdrops  away. 

In  sunshine  and  power  I  was  toasted 
And  feasted  by  courtiers  so  kind ; 

And,  Oh  !  how  the  parasites  boasted 
Of  the  wonderful  traits  of  my  mind. 

But  when  the  dark  hour  of  my  trouble 
Arose  like  a  storm  in  the  sky, 

The  vipers  began  to  play  double, 
And  forgot  the  bright  glance  of  my  eye ! 


THE  SEXTON. 
[From  a  recent  Kentucky  scene.] 

Patiently  waiting  the  nameless  dead, 

The  sexton  leant  on  hia  spade, 
With  thin,  gray  locks  round  his  rugged  head, 

O'er  the  grave  he  had  newly  made. 

He  thought  of  his  home  in  a  distant  land, 
Where  the  heather  and  thistle  grow, 

And  the  waves  that  sound  on  its  rocky  strand, 
Where  the  storm  winds  beat  and  blow. 

And  his  eyes  were  filled  with  impulsive  tears. 

As  alone  by  the  grave  he  stood, 
While  memory  brought  back  forty  years— 

Of  the  young,  the  bright,  and  the  good. 

Mother  and  father  had  passed  away, 
And  wife,  and  daughter,  and  son  ; 

And  he  alone  in  the  evening  gray  — 
With  his  race  so  nearly  run. 

The  funeral  train,  in  twilight  hour, 

Away  from  the  churchyard  fled, 
And  the  blare  and  pomp  of  worldly  power 

Touched  not  the  ear  of  the  dead. 

And  the  sexton  old,  with  a  thistle  bloom, 

Was  found  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
Asleep  at  last  by  a  silent  tomb, 

With  his  locks  so  thin  and  gray. 


24 


"  The  texioii  leant  on  his  spade '' 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  SAGE. 

I  met  a  sage,  decrepit,  old  and  gray, 

While  plodding  through  his  last  declining  day, 

And  asked  him  as  he  wandered  down  the  vale 

To  tell  me  of  his  life's  eventful  tale. 

He  leant  upon  his  staff  and  paused  awhile, 

Then  gazed  across  the  sea  to  some  fair  isle 

That  met  his  fading  vision  through  the  gloom, 

Where  roses  blossom  in  eternal  bloom. 

"  Fair  youth,"  he  said,  "  my  well-remembered  years 

Arise  before  me  now  through  smiles  and  tears, 

And  take  me  back  to  love-lit,  golden  hours, 

When  life  was  young,  amid  sweet  fragrant  flowers ; 

My  hopes  were  of  the  golden  time  to  be, 

Or  like  a  full-rigged  ship  upon  the  sea  — 

Freighted  with  all  the  flashing  hues  of  mind 

That  thrill  the  soul  or  deify  mankind. 

My  boyhood  pleasure  was  as  bright  as  thine  — 

Came  lightly  as  the  foam  on  rosy  wine ; 

But  like  the  foam  it  quickly  passed  away 

And  left  me  to  another  doubtful  day. 

I  fondly  thought  that  when  my  manhood  came 

I'd  rush  into  the  ranks  and  win  a  name 

That  ages  yet  unborn  would  emulate, 

And  grant  me  glory  in  both  church  and  state. 

In  blooming  age  I  sought  for  power  and  place, 

And  won  distinction  in  full  many  a  race ; 

But  just  as  sweet  perfection  came  to  view 

The  bowl  was  dashed  and  left  me  trials  anew. 

I  sought  the  field  of  glory  and  of  war, 

My  hope  as  bright  as  yonder  evening  star ; 

And  there  I  heard  the  shot  and  shrieking  shell, 

That  roared  in  terror,  like  a  voice  from  hell. 


27 


Upon  the  ramparts  high  I  waved  my  flag. 

And  struggled  bravely  up  the  mountain  crag ; 

But  just  as  Victory  o'er  me  threw  her  spell 

I  dropped  the  flag,  faltered,  wounded  fell. 

A  broken  soldier  who  has  known  defeat 

Can  fight  and  fall,  but  never  can  retreat, 

And  now  you  see  me  just  the  sport  of  Fate, 

Its  taunting  voice  still  ringing  out —  too  late. 

In  legislative  halls  with  words  ornate 

I  shone  amid  the  thunders  of  debate, 

And  reaped  some  glory  with  a  loud  applause 

For  making  many  wholesome,  honest  laws. 

I  walked  among  the  noble  and  the  great 

Who  stood  as  pillars  to  the  rising  state ; 

And  while  Dame  Fortune  promised  every  prize, 

I  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  bright  eyes. 

Yes,  I  have  known  a  loving  maid's  embrace, 

Whose  soul  shone  brightly  in  her  cheering  face, 

While  laughing  children  clambered  on  my  knee, 

And  blessed  me  with  the  glory  of  their  glee. 

Yet  these  have  gone  and  left  me  weak  and  lone, 

With  nothing  here  that  I  can  call  my  own, 

Like  yon  bare  pine  that  topples  to  decay 

And  droops  above  where  all  its  fellows  lay ; 

Or  like  an  eagle  on  some  mountain  height, 

With  longing  eyes,  peers  through  the  gathering  night, 

Awaiting  one  that  never  shall  again 

Soar  with  him  grandly  o'er  the  hill  and  plain. 

Then  I  had  friends  who  filled  my  banquet  hall, 

They  drank  my  sparkling  wine,  both  one  and  all ; 

But  when  they  saw  and  knew  that  I  might  fall, 

They  left  me  rudely  with  life's  bitter  gall ! 

But  why  repine  for  pleasure  that  is  past, 

Or  sigh  for  earthly  power  that  can  not  last,— 


While  people  praise  us  for  their  fame  and  joy, 

Erecting  idols  they  will  soon  destroy  ? 

I  wandered  many  years  in  foreign  lands, 

From  arctic  regions  to  bright  tropic  sands, 

Seeking  for  perfect  pleasure  on  the  way, 

But  never  found  it  to  the  present  day. 

In  beauty's  eyes,  from  Persia  to  Peru, 

I  caught  love  glances  as  they  darted  through 

The  veil  that  cruel  custom  seeks  to  hide 

What  Nature  gave  to  show  with  honest  pride. 

In  Florence  and  in  Rome  I  looked  aghast 

At  works  of  art  that  told  me  of  the  past, 

Which  peopled  every  crumbling  tower  and  pile 

With  royal  spirits  from  some  fairy  isle. 

The  glowing  canvas  and  the  marble  bust 

Have  rescued  heroes  from  the  thickening  dust 

That  centuries  of  time  accumulate 

Upon  the  name  of  those  who  serve  the  state ; 

But  yet,  the  time  will  come  when  even  the  great 

Are  lost  within  the  ruins  of  their  state, 

And  every  glorious  fame  that  thrilled  the  past 

Shall  perish  from  the  earth  and  die  at  last. 

Ah  !  here  to-day  you  find  me  old  and  gray, 

A  wreck  where  once  ambition  held  its  sway; 

Where  every  romance  in  the  soul  of  youth 

Came  lightly  as  the  angel  of  the  truth. 

Now  you  are  young,  and  like  the  noble  pine, 

But  sure  as  fate,  your  steps  must  follow  mine. 

While  you  may  hear  and  see  what  I  have  seen, 

Your  name  be  mentioned  in  immortal  green, 

Yet  still  remember  that  no  power  or  gold 

Can  purchase  an  exemption  to  grow  old. 

One  hundred  years  have  crowned  my  troubled  way, 

And  here  I  crumble  with  my  mother  clay ; 


29 


I'll  take  a  last  long  look  at  yonder  nun  : 
Farewell  !  farewell  !  My  fleeting  life  is  done! 
He  ceased,  and  sank  into  the  gloom  of  night, 
And  left  behind  no  ray  of  cheering  light, 
While  all  his  conversation  did  but  seem 
The  vestige  of  a  vain  and  vanished  dream  ! 


HOW  YOU  FEEL. 
[Dedicated  to  an  honest  man.] 

Though  your  rusty  old  hat  may  be  battered, 
And  your  shoes  all  run  down  at  the  heel, 

And  your  coat  be  all  torn  and  tattered, 
You  're  as  good  and  as  great  as  you  feel. 

Though  the  rabble  may  sneer  and  upbraid  you, 

And  still  try  your  glory  to  steal, 
The  dastards  can  only  annoy  you, 

If  you  're  honest  and  be  what  you  feel. 

Though  the  clouds  of  adversity  hover, 

And  the  storms  of  life  loudly  peal, 
Hold  to  truth  and  your  honor  forever, 

And  you  '11  always  be  just  as  you  feel. 

When  the  ingrates  shall  blighten  your  manhood, 
And  the  hypocrites  puncture  your  wheel, 

Steer  forth  through  the  crowd  and  the  wild  wood, 
Be  noble,  and  be  all  you  feel. 

And  when  this  short  life  is  all  over, 
At  the  throne  of  Jehovah  you  '11  kneel, 

And  feel  like  the  bees  in  sweet  clover, 
If  you  're  only  as  true  as  you  feel. 


THE  CELESTIAL  CITY. 

I  dream  of  a  city  so  far  away 

In  the  upland  realms  of  eternal  day, 

Where  the  streets  are  silver  and  jasper  and  gold, 

And  nothing  therein  can  ever  grow  old  ; 

But  ever  is  young,  so  happy  and  fair, 

Where  pleasure  is  never  in  league  with  care, 

And  love  and  beauty  are  always  there. 

Its  temples  and  towers  are  reaching  high, 
Far  into  the  blue  of  a  cloudless  sky  ; 
Where  angels  and  seraphs  are  sailing  around 
With  musical  waves  of  silvery  sound  ; 
And  the  golden  fruit  of  that  sunny  clime 
Shall  blossom  and  ripen  as  long  as  time  ; 
Where  truth  is  eternal,  and  soul  sublime. 

The  billions  that  vanished  away  from  the  earth 
Since  this  speck  of  matter  had  life  and  birth, 
Are  there  in  great  glory  and  pristine  bloom  — 
Triumphant  forever  beyond  the  tomb  ; 
And  all  of  the  creatures  who  left  this  sod 
Have  passed  'neath  the  Great  High  Ruler's  rod, 
Victorious  at  last,  by  the  grace  of  God  I 


THE  DAY  IS  DONE. 

Through  the  churchyard  to-day  I  've  been  roaming, 

Where  slumbers  my  darling  alone  ; 
Now,  I  'in  watching  the  stars  in  the  gloaming 

For  one  that  was  only  mine  own. 

She  faded  away  in  life's  morning 
And  sought  the  fair  isles  of  the  blest, 


As  lovely  as  when  summer  sunsets 
Melt  all  the  red  gold  of  the  west. 

The  stars  that  are  shining  above  me 

Are  only  the  jewels  she  wears  ; 
Where'er  she  now  dwells  she  still  loves  me. 

And  shares  in  my  sorrow  and  cares. 

I  know  she  is  waiting  to  greet  me 
Whene'er  I  may  reach  the  bright  shore  ; 

I  know  she  is  praying  to  meet  me 
Where  loved  ones  are  parted  no  more. 

How  I  long  to  pass  through  the  bright  portal 
And  leave  all  the  sadness  of  earth, 

And  dwell  with  the  spirits  immortal, 
Where  Truth,  Love,  and  Beauty  found  birtb. 


MY  BELIEF. 

I  believe  in  God,  who  rules  o'er  all, 
And  heed  not  any  creeds  of  men; 

I  know  that  Father  Adam's  fall 
Was  conjured  by  old  Moses'  pen. 

I  believe  that  Eve  was  but  a  myth, 

And  Moses  but  a  liar  — 
A  Jew,  with  gall  and  gab  and  pith  — 

A  keen,  falacious  sire. 

The  "  rib,"  extracted  from  the  side 

Of  Adam  in  his  sleep, 
Brought  sorrow  to  the  world  wide, 

And  caused  mankind  to  weep. 


The  "  Serpent  "  knew  his  business  well, 
When  tempting  Mother  Eve  ; 

He  still  is  loose,  in  earth  and  hell  — 
To  lie,  seduce,  deceive. 

And  yet,  what  would  the  preachers  do, 
Without  the  myths  of  Moses  ? 

They'd  be  like  ships  without  a  crew  — 
Like  gardens  without  roses. 


DEOSS. 

The  crystal  kings  of  Alpine  peaks 

In  icy  grandeur  reign  alone  ; 
And  so  my  soul  forever  seeks 

To  stand  within  the  Great  Unknown. 

The  world  to  me  is  only  dross, 

A  study  of  the  undertone  ; 
For  all  we  gain  is  only  loss 

Unless  we  know  the  vast  Unknown. 

We  're  only  atoms  on  the  breeze, 
Tossed  and  tumbled,  brief  —  and  blown 

Like  withered  leaves  upon  the  trees, 
Poor  pilgrims  to  the  dark  Unknown. 

Vain  are  the  triumphs  we  cherish, 
This  life  is  a  laugh  and  a  groan  ; 

All  that  we  love  must  soon  perish, 
And  sink  to  the  realm  —  Unknown. 

The  pomp  and  power  of  the  greatest 
Only  shines  for  a  short  little  day  ; 

The  earliest  hour  is  the  latest  — 
And  all  things  are  flitting  away  ! 


33 


LIFE. 

This  life  's  a  shadow  of  the  tomb, 
A  rosebud  in  its  morning  bloom, 
A  web  and  woof  within  a  loom, 
An  echo  in  a  vacant  room. 

A  dewdrop  on  a  tender  flower, 
A  moment  of  a  flitting  hour, 
A  eigh  for  love  within  a  bower, 
A  raindrop  of  a  thunder  shower. 

A  leaf  upon  the  autumn  trees, 
A  mother's  prayer  on  bended  knees, 
Like  epray  upon  the  silver  seas 
Or  buzzing  of  the  busy  bees. 

A  sunbeam  on  the  rolling  wave, 
A  moan  above  a  lonely  grave, 
A  war  cry  of  the  bright  and  brave  — 
Or  groan  of  an  unconquered  slave. 

An  atom  borne  upon  the  air, 
A  heart  surcharged  with  grief  and  care, 
And  shuttled  onward  here  and  there  — 
Mysterious  matter  everywhere ! 


WHAT  I  LOVE. 
[Dedicated  to  Hon.  D.  I.  Murphy.] 

I  love  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
Where  nature  reigns  so  wild  and  free  ; 
Where  all  things  speak  to  you  and  me, 
Of  God-given,  glorious  liberty. 


I  love  the  vales  and  lawns  and  rills, 
The  rocks  and  streams,  and  rustic  mills, 
And  fountains  springing  from  the  hills 
Whose  magic  music  soothes  and  thrills. 

I  love  the  storms  that  grandly  rise, 
With  rumbling  thunder  from  the  skies, 
With  lightnings  from  the  Great  All  Wise, 
And  rainbows  with  their  heavenly  dyes. 

I  love  the  roar  of  glorious  war, 
Resounding  like  a  rumbling  car, 
As  storms  that  sweep  o'er  oceans  far, 
And  constant  as  the  polar  star. 

I  love  the  lion  and  his  might, 
The  screaming  eagle  and  his  flight, 
The  stars  that  glitter  night  by  night  — 
And  everything  that 's  pure  and  bright. 

I  love  the  flowers,  so  sweet  and  bright, 
That  bloom  in  beauty  day  and  night, 
Diffusing  fragrance,  love,  and  light  — 
The  emblem  of  eternal  right. 

I  love  the  larks  that  soar  and  sing, 
Like  specks  of  sunshine  on  the  wing; 
Ah  !  how  my  spirit  longs  to  swing 
Where  seraph  songs  forever  ring. 

I  love  the  blush  on  Beauty's  cheek, 
The  bright  blue  eyes  so  mild  and  meek  — 
Where  Love  is  playing  "  hide  and  seek," 
Like  swallows  round  some  mountain  peak. 

I  love  to  think,  and  walk  alone ; 
Or,  like  a  monarch  on  his  throne, 


35 


Maintain  my  own  intense  soul-tone, 
Till  I  shall  meet  the  Great  Unknown. 

I  love  the  kind,  the  good,  the  great ; 
At  home,  abroad,  in  church,  or  state ; 
Yet,  one  thing  I  shall  ever  hate : 
The  sordid,  dastard,  vile  ingrate  ! 


FETTERED. 

I  work  on  the  treadmill  of  life  every  day, 

Not  knowing  where  to  I  am  bound  ; 
It  matters  not  whether  I  am  troubled  or  gay, 

I  simply  go  round  and  around. 

I  eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  and  I  still  strive  for  gain, 

That  soon  I  must  leave  to  another, 
And  only  go  on  to  the  end  of  my  chain  — 

Contesting  with  sister  or  brother. 

I  'm  fettered  for  life  to  the  end  of  a  chain, 

And  fastened  so  tightly  by  fate, 
That  whether  I  feel  any  pleasure  or  pain 

I  '11  die  either  early  or  late. 

The  worst  and  the  greatest  must  sleep  'neath  the  sod  : 
There  's  nothing  on  earth  that  will  stay ; 

I  'm  only  a  speck,  and  the  breath  of  my  God, 
But  I  feel  that  the  soul  can't  decay. 

So  I  '11  float  right  along  like  the  strain  of  a  song, 
And  I  '11  try  to  laugh  down  every  trouble, 

And  be  jolly  and  gay  from  day  unto  day, 
With  a  heart  that  can  never  play  double. 

36 


FLITTING. 

A  short  little  day,  at  talk,  work  or  play, 
Is  all  that  each  mortal  can  cherish ; 

And  then  out  alone,  to  the  darkling  unknown, 
Where  worldly  memories  perish. 

Again  and  again  each  link  of  our  chain 

Is  broken  so  rudely  forever, 
And  hearts  fond  and  dear  depart  year  by  year  — 

Across  the  mysterious  river. 

A  poor  little  life,  that  toddles  through  strife, 
And  wrangles  from  hour  unto  hour, 

Is  all  we  can  claim,  for  glory  or  shame  — 
For  beauty,  for  honor,  or  power. 

Then  while  we  are  here,  let's  be  of  good  cheer, 
And  laugh  and  be  gay  with  the  best ; 

So  when  we  depart  we  '11  shine  in  each  heart  — 
Like  sunsets  that  glow  in  the  west ! 


THE  PHILOSOPHER'S  DREAM. 

I  'm  weary  of  toiling  where  envy  and  malice 
Are  tearing  down  genius  from  day  unto  day ; 

Far  better  to  drink  a  draught  from  death's  chalice, 
Than  mingle  with  midgets  as  callous  as  clay. 

All  mean,  sordid  mortals  I  loathe  with  derision ; 

Their  praise  or  their  censure  are  nothing  to  me ; 
I  think  for  myself,  and  make  up  my  decision, 

And  live  in  the  light  of  my  own  liberty. 


447292' 


My  mind  is  a  kingdom  and  o'er  it  I  'm  reigning, 
No  traitor  can  enter  this  princely  domain  ; 

I  soar  with  the  muses,  all  vain  things  disdaining, 
And  drink  from  the  goblets  that  banish  all  pain. 

I  long  to  retire  to  a  haven  eternal, 

Where  Love,  Truth,  and  Honor  are  ever  in  bloom 
Where  Nature  celestial  is  glorious  and  vernal, 

And  the  soul  in  its  beauty  survives  o'er  the  tomb. 


NATURE'S  GOD. 
[Dedicated  to  Col.  Robert  G.  Ingersoll.] 

Tell  me  ye  stars  that  nightly  o'er  me  reign, 
The  secrets  of  your  brilliant,  radiant  sphere  ; 

And  if  your  beings  feel  the  grief  and  pain 
That  mortals  suffer  while  they  linger  here. 

0,  tell  me  if  beyond  the  suns  and  stars 
There  is  a  clime  where  earthly  creatures  rest ; 

Where  o'er  the  lights  of  Venus  and  red  Mars, 
I  '11  bask  in  glory  with  the  brave  and  blest. 

I  ask,  and  ask  these  questions  evermore, 
And  no  reply  has  yet  come  back  to  me  ; 

But,  in  the  moaning  of  the  ocean  roar, 
I  hear  a  whisper  from  eternity. 

The  voice  of  Nature  in  her  various  forms 
Speaks  to  my  mind  a  language  ever  true, 

That  sounds  above  the  summits  and  the  storms — 
There  's  someone  somewhere  looking  out  for  you  ! 


A  TRUE  BILL. 

Go  wrong,  and  the  people  hear  it  ; 

Be  right,  and  they  little  care  ; 
Be  ever  so  true,  they  '11  talk  about  you, 

And  do  it  most  everywhere. 
Be  strong,  and  the  sycophants  flatter  ; 

Be  weak,  and  they  trample  you  down  ; 
Though  the  world  be  fast,  it  looks  on  aghast, 

At  the  man  who  despises  its  frown. 

Be  ready  to  strike  in  a  moment, 

And  bluffers  will  leave  you  alone; 
Look  up  in  the  air,  defying  all  care, 

And  you  may  hold  on  to  your  own. 
Go  right  along  through  the  world, 

Not  caring  what  it  may  say  ; 
'T  will  damn  to-morrow,  making  you  sorrow, 

But  praise  you  for  cash  to-day. 

Beam  and  smile  with  the  Beauty  ; 

Go  grin  and  growl  with  the  Beast  ; 
To  keep  out  of  trouble,  every  play  double, 

Be  first  at  the  fair  or  the  feast. 
Pretend  to  be  bright,  brave,  and  wealthy  — 

Appearance  is  most  of  life's  game  ; 
The  world  'a  a  fool,  as  a  general  rule, 

Yet,  fools  sometimes  catch  on  to  fame  ! 


DUPLICITY. 

There  's  little  on  earth  but  sin,  sorrow  and  care  — 
Duplicity  meeting  us  everywhere; 
It  'a  found  in  the  young,  it  's  found  in  the  old, 
It  'a  master  of  those  who  win  silver  and  gold. 


39 


It 's  found  in  the  churches,  it 's  found  at  the  bar, 
It  'e  found  through  the  world,  at  home,  near  and  far, 
And,  go  where  you  will,  to  the  races  or  fair  — 
Duplicity,  surely,  you  '11  find  ever  there. 

It 's  found  in  the  forum,  it 's  found  on  the  bench  — 
Cunning  and  crawling,  like  a  cruel  Judge  Lynch, 
With  smiles  on  her  lips  and  beams  on  her  brow  — 
Old  Dastard  Duplicity  —  cloaked  with  a  bow  ! 

It 's  found  in  the  groundling,  it 's  found  in  the  great  — 
The  "  trump  card  "  that 's  played  at  the  helm  of  state ; 
Beginning  and  ending  of  man's  cruel  ware  — 
Duplicity  — Agent  of  red-handed  Mars. 

Men  vainly  boast  of  being  "  brother  to  brother," 
Yet  morning  and  night  they  're  cheating  each  other. 
From  rising  of  sun  to  the  close  of  the  day 
Duplicity  reigns  with  tyrannical  sway. 

In  shop  and  in  office,  in  mill  and  in  bank, 
Where  Mammon  has  servants  of  low  and  high  rank, 
You  '11  find  that  Duplicity  ever  is  Boss  — 
Taking  most  of  the  profit  and  none  of  the  loss. 

Just  look  in  the  face  of  that  Jesuit  fraud, 
Who  has  something  to  sell  like  a  butcher  or  bawd, 
He  '11  tickle  your  fancy  and  flatter  your  pride, 
With  plastic  Duplicity  —  "  kept  on  the  side." 


Then,  do  not  be  troubled  or  worry  your  mind, 
About  bankers  or  butchers,  or  frauds  of  all  kind  — 
But  lay  down  the  netting  they  're  spreading  for  you, 
And  deal  them  Duplicity  clear  through  and  through. 


DONT. 

[Dedicated  to  Pessimistic  Patriots.] 

Don't  be  sighing,  don't  be  crying 
For  the  pleasures  that  are  past ; 

Just  keep  working  and  keep  trying, 
And  keep  laughing  to  the  last. 

Don't  be  mumbling,  don't  be  grumbling 
At  the  world  from  day  to  day, 

But  keep  trotting  and  keep  tumbling 
To  the  front  in  every  fray. 

Don't  be  growling,  don't  be  howling 
At  the  men  who  push  along ; 

Help  your  comrades  without  scowling, 
Join  the  chorus  of  the  song. 

Don't  be  swearing,  don't  be  fearing 
That  the  world  is  going  to  end ; 

Just  keep  plodding,  ploughing,  peering, 
And  you  '11  never  want  a  friend. 

Don't  be  lacking,  don't  be  backing, 

But  be  sure  and  go  ahead, 
For  the  man  that 's  always  tacking 

Is  the  one  that  never  led. 

Don't  be  backward  in  your  going, 

Do  your  duty  everywhere ; 
It 's  the  man  that  does  the  hoeing 

That  is  always  getting  there ! 


41 


THE  MORNING  GLORY. 

Beautiful  morning  glory, 

Tell  me  your  sensitive  story  ; 

Where  did  you  get  your  blush  of  blue, 

Your  pink  and  white,  inlaid  with  rue, 

Your  chaliced  lips  bedecked  with  dew, 

And  your  heart  so  deep,  so  pure  and  true? 

ANSWER. 
When  the  curtain  of  stars  swung  out  last  night 

I  was  only  a  budding  flower, 
And  the  scorching  sun  gave  me  fearful  fright, 

As  it  rolled  to  its  western  bower  ; 
But  zephyrs  came  with  their  balmy  breath 

And  moistened  the  dews  of  the  dawn, 
When  I  rose  again  from  my  daily  death, 

And  blushed  in  the  garden  and  lawn. 


LAUGH  ON. 

It  is  no  use  to  weep  or  worry  ; 

It  is  better  to  sing  and  play 
Than  to  always  be  in  a  hurry, 

And  thus  rattle  our  lives  away. 

For  the  day  flies  by  like  a  shuttle, 

As  the  sable  wings  of  the  night 
Comes  down  with  a  shade  so  subtle, 

Like  the  rooks  in  their  twilight  flight. 

And  the  heart  beats  on  with  longing 
For  the  joys  that  are  passed  and  fled, 

While  through  memory's  halls  come  thronging 
The  radiant  forms  of  our  dead. 


J.2 


We  know  that  we  soon  must  follow, 
So  let  us  be  happy  while  here ; 

And  even  if  the  laugh  be  hollow, 
It  is  better  than  sorrow  or  fear. 

'T  is  better  to  love  one  another 
Than  quarrel  and  sneer  at  the  world, 

For  God  made  us  brother  to  brother, 
With  banners  of  truth  still  unfurled. 

Let  us  sing  and  dance  with  the  brightest, 
And  scatter  the  perfume  of  flowers  ; 

For  the  heaviest  heart  is  the  lightest 
If  it  cheers  up  the  creeping  hours  ! 

¥¥ 

A  MEMORY. 

[Dedicated  to  K.  L.  V.] 

In  the  woodland  bowers  I  met  her, 

When  the  May  flowers  were  in  bloom, 
And  I  never  can  forget  her, 

Though  she  's  sleeping  in  the  tomb. 
On  fond  memory's  page  are  shining 

Visions  of  the  buried  past, 
And  my  heart  with  grief  is  pining  — 

I  shall  love  her  to  the  last. 

Her  bright  spirit  lingers  near  me 

In  my  hours  of  grief  and  pain  ; 
Angel  whispers  come  to  cheer  me, 

With  their  sweet  and  tender  strain. 
Yet,  I  know  in  some  far  Aiden 

We  shall  meet  among  the  blest, 
Where  no  life  with  care  is  laden, 

And  where  souls  find  peace  and  rest. 


•in 


GONE. 

She  faded  away  like  the  dews  of  morn, 
Or  the  mist  through  the  morning  light, 

And  her  soul  now  rests  in  a  heavenly  clime, 
Where  never  again  shall  be  night. 

She  lived  for  love  and  the  beauties  of  earth. 
And  she  did  every  good  every  day ; 

But  never  again  shall  we  hear  her  voice  — 
From  the  cold  and  impalpable  clay  ! 

Yet,  while  right  is  right  and  good  is  good, 
There  is  hope  for  the  millions  of  earth, 

Who  struggle  and  battle  along  the  years 
For  a  land  where  the  soul  had  birth  ! 


TEN  YEARS. 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  'neath  the  sod 

I  gave  my  darling  to  her  God  ; 
My  eyes  surcharged  with  tears  of  love 

Which  Time  will  crystallize  above. 

Ten  years  of  weary,  wand'ring  care 
Have  lashed  me  with  their  fume  and  fret. 

And  I  'm  not  happy  anywhere, 
Because  my  soul  can  not  forget 

Her  vanished  voice  and  golden  curls 
Entrance  my  troubled  heart  to-day, 

When  I  behold  the  "  boys  "  and  "  girls  " 
That  loved  her  when  she  laughed  at  play. 


44 


OLD  FRIENDS. 

How  the  heart  will  beat  responsive 

To  the  fancies  of  the  brain, 
When  the  dearly  loved  and  lost  ones 

Come  to  visit  us  again  ; 
Forms  that  once  we  fondly  cherished, 

One  by  one  appear  in  view ; 
But  in  all  the  world  there  's  nothing 

To  replace  the  lost  and  true. 

New-found  friends  may  gather  'round  us, 

While  we  float  on  fortune's  tide ; 
Be  they  true,  or  be  they  fickle  — 

None  but  old  friends  have  been  tried  — 
Those  fond  hearts  that  still  are  faithful, 

In  our  weal  or  in  our  woe, 
Are  the  rarest  gifts  that  heaven 

In  its  bounty  can  bestow ! 


HAVE  THE  ROBINS  COME? 

[An  actual  occurrence  and  not  a  fancy.] 

•  Pray  tell  me  when  the  robins  come. 

They  're  harbingers  of  spring,  you  know  ; 
The  March  storms  seal  the  winter's  doom  ; 
Its  springtide  mine  —  to  stay  or  go. 

'  I  've  pray'd  to  live  for  that  dear  child 

Who  can  not  know  what  death  may  mean, 
Through  life  from  that  sweet  tie  exil'd, 
Which  none  but  child  and  mother  dream." 


4ft 


Twin  pallid  lilliea  mount  her  cheeks, 
Their  hectic  signets  seal  hope's  doom  ; 

For  months  we  've  read,  but  could  not  speak, 
Yet  ev'ry  morning  —  "  Have  they  come  ?  " 

One  morn  when  March-born  winds  were  still'd, 
And  straggling  drifts  of  coffin  form 

Athwart  the  lawn  lay  white  and  chill'd  — 
Snowy  graves  of  last  night's  storm  — 

The  sun's  warm  breath  and  melting  kiss 
Allur'd  the  herbage  bursting  near. 

A  flock  of  red-breasts  'spied  the  tryst, 
And  spread  their  morning  banquet  there. 

"  The  robins  and  the  spring  are  here  "  — 
With  mufli'd  steps  we  seek  her  bed. 
A  fairer  spring  had  come  to  her, 
And  birds  of  Paradise  instead. 


LOVE. 

Love  and  beauty  ever  lingers, 

Like  the  blush  upon  the  flowers, 
Spreading  hope  with  fairy  fingers 

Through  the  darkest,  loneliest  hours. 
And  when  every  earthly  pleasure 

Takes  its  reeling  lightning  flight, 
Love  is  still  our  radiant  treasure, 

Like  the  glittering  stars  of  night. 
Winter  can  not  chill  its  glory, 

It  can  all  the  world  defy, 
And  't  will  shine  in  song  and  story, 

For  true  love  can  never  die  ! 


46 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

[For  the  eye  and  hand  of  charity.] 

Pity,  oh  pity,  her  cold  little  feet, 
Trudging  along  through  the  alley  and  street  ! 
Where  the  night  winds  wander  and  sigh  and  grieve, 
'Mong  the  flickering  lights  of  Christmas  Eve. 

She  looks  in  the  shops  where  the  groups  of  toys 
Are  glittering  bright  for  gay  girls  and  boys, 
And  the  staring  eyes  speak  unuttered  woe 
Of  the  orphan  child  in  the  falling  snow. 

Her  famishing  heart  at  the  baker's  door 
Longs  for  the  "  goodies  "  on  counter  and  floor, 
While  the  rich  and  the  proud  roll  by  in  state 
And  leave  the  waif  to  her  mournful  fate. 

The  clock  in  the  tower  strikes  the  hour  of  two, 
As  the  Night  Watch  looks  at  the  solemn  few 
Who  make  their  beds  by  the  sheltering  wall, 
To  shiver  and  starve  by  the  brilliant  hall. 

Now,  the  orphan  child  has  gone  to  her  rest, 
With  tapering  ringers  upon  her  breast, 
Where  the  "  Christmas  gifts  "  are  given  with  love  — 
Beyond  the  stars,  in  a  realm  above  ! 


VAIN  MAN. 

Vain  little  man,  from  day  to  day, 
Imagines  that  he  's  great, 

And  struts  and  frets  his  life  away  — 
In  home,  in  church  and  in  state. 


47 


He  knows  but  little  here  below  — 
A  bunch  of  beef  and  bluff  ; 

An  egotist  for  weal  or  woe  — 
A  ripper  in  the  rough. 

With  gilt  and  gold  he  rears  his  head, 
And  lords  it  spring  and  fall  ; 

And  doesn't  know  until  he  's  dead 
That  he  has  lived  at  all. 

'T  is  sad  to  see  these  little  things 
Make  monkeys  of  themselves, 

While  aping  princes,  dukes  and  kings 
And  consequential  swells. 

But  let  them  strut  and  fume  and  rave  ; 

It  's  all  they  have  to  do  ; 
They  know  not  what  't  is  to  be  brave, 

Or  lofty,  pure  and  true. 

They  're  only  fit  for  glare  parade, 
For  buncomb,  wind  and  show  — 

A  sordid  set  that  God  has  made, 
To  prattle,  prate  and  blow. 


HURRAH  FOR  THE  BOERS! 

Hurrah  for  the  Boers  !  may  they  live  long  in  glory, 
And  conquer  the  tyrant,  eo  brutal  and  vain, 

Who  tries  to  destroy  every  vestige  of  freedom 
On  mountain,  and  ocean,  on  valley  and  plain. 

Hurrah  for  the  Boers  !  who  are  fighting  for  freedom, 
For  home,  love  and  country,  for  honor  and  law, 

For  ridges  of  gold  and  for  valleys  of  diamonds, 
The  finest  and  richest  that  man  ever  saw. 


48 


Hurrah  for  the  Boers!  is  the  cry  of  the  nations 
That  worship  where  Liberty  reigns  in  her  might, 

Where  Freedom  still  battles  for  truth,  peace  and  honor, 
And  every  proud  heart  beats  for  law,  love  and  right. 

Hurrah  for  the  Boers  !  and  the  downfall  of  monarchs, 
The  Neros  of  nations  and  curse  of  the  world  ; 

May  the  nineteenth  century  see  their  destruction, 
And  their  blood-reeking  flags  torn,  tattered,  and  furled. 


SHALL  WE  LIVE  AGAIN? 

[Dedicated  to  Hon.  William  B.  Allison,  U.  S.  Senator.] 

I  asked  the  hills  in  vernal  bloom 
To  tell  me  if  beyond  the  tomb 
The  mind  of  man  is  full  and  free, 
The  heir  to  all  eternity. 

I  asked  the  seas  that  grandly  roll 
Their  wrinkled  brows  from  pole  to  pole, 
If  far  beyond  their  utmost  shore 
There  is  a  life  forevermore. 

I  asked  the  stars  that  nightly  shine 
As  jewels  in  the  crown  divine, 
If  man  shall  live  within  their  sphere, 
Devoid  of  all  the  dross  that  's  here. 

I  asked  the  sun,  whose  heavenly  light 
Shines  somewhere  always  day  and  night, 
To  tell  me  if  the  soul  of  man 
Exists  beyond  this  little  span. 

The  hills  and  seas  and  stars  and  sun 
Made  glorious  answer  one  by  one, 
Proclaiming  with  a  grand  refrain  — 
"God  wills  thai  man  shall  live  again  !" 


KISSING  O'ER  THE  BARS. 

[A  song.    Dedicated  to  "  Gypsy  Kroh."] 

I  had  a  little  sweetheart,  her  name  was  Jennie  Lee; 
We  met  down  by  the  brooklet,  and  by  the  waters  free  ; 
We  clasped  and  kissed  each  other,  beneath  therisingstars  — 
Our  hearts  kept  tune  together  while  kissing  o'er  the  bars. 

Although  the  years  have  left  me  and  I  am  old  and  gray, 
I  can't  forget  the  gloaming  that  long  since  passed  away  ; 
Yet  while  my  life  is  wasting  and  marked  by  many  scars, 
I  'm  standing  by  the  brooklet  and  kissing  o'er  the  bars ! 

Often  in  the  evening  when  I  gaze  across  the  sea, 

My  soul  is  filled  with  rapture  for  home  and  Jennie  Lee ; 

And  though  a  lonely  exile  exposed  to  jolts  and  jars, 

I  'm  kissing,  fondly  kissing,  my  sweet  Jennie  o'er  the  bare ! 

She  left  me  in  the  morning  when  life  was  young  and  true ; 
Her  spirit  shines  upon  me  from  yonder  bounding  blue; 
And  though  the  world  rebukes  me  with  many  winds  and 

wars, 
My  heart  and  soul  feel  rapture  while  kissing  o'er  the  bare ! 


50 


'  Our  heart*  kept  tune  together  while  kiuing  o'er  the  ban 


GOD  IS  NEAR. 
[Dedicated  to  Rev.  David  Wills,  of  Georgia.] 

God  is  near  upon  the  ocean, 

God  is  near  upon  the  land  ; 
He  is  All,  both  rest  and  motion  — 

We  are  only  grains  of  sand. 
Little  mites  upon  life's  billow, 

May-flies  buzzing  out  the  hour, 
Dreams  upon  a  fevered  pillow, 

Dewdrops  on  a  withered  flower. 
Only  waiting  for  to-morrow, 

That  has  never  come  to  man, 
Here  we  live  in  joy  and  sorrow, 

Chasing  phantoms  as  we  can. 
Chasing  pleasure,  chasing  greatness, 

Over  tangled  walks  and  waves ; 
But  we  learn  the  bitter  lateness 

Just  before  we  find  our  graves. 
Hope  is  nigh  with  fairy  fingers, 

Tracing  sunbeams  on  the  way ; 
Magic  memory  ever  lingers, 

Busy  with  the  bygone  day. 
Life  and  death  are  but  the  portals 

To  a  realm  of  endless  rest ; 
God  is  working  through  his  mortals; 

All  in  some  way  shall  be  blessed ! 

¥¥ 

THE  EXILE. 

In  other  lands  beyond  the  sea 
My  thoughts  will  often  turn  to  thee ; 
And  gazing  o'er  the  billows'  crest 
My  heart  shall  travel  to  the  west, 
Where  lies  a  home,  the  sweetest,  best. 


53 


Fair  land  of  pine  and  oak  and  ash, 
Where  sparkling  streams  forever  dash, 
Mid  mountain  crags  so  grand  and  old 
Rock-ribbed  with  iron,  silver,  gold, 
And  fertile  fields  of  generous  mould. 

The  friends  I  knew  in  childhood  years 
Are  seen  with  love  through  smiles  and  tears, 
And  as  my  bounding  bark  departs  — 
One  look,  one  sigh,  to  tender  hearts  — 
How  memory  from  my  bosom  starts ! 

How  oft  my  eyes  will  turn  in  vain 
To  see  my  native  land  again, 
And  as  the  sail  departs  from  view, 
I  '11  peer  across  the  ocean  blue 
To  catch  one  glimpse  of  love  and  you. 

But  I  am  destined  still  to  roam 

Without  a  country  or  a  home, 

A  lonely  exile  bent  with  care, 

A  barren  waste,  both  bleak  and  bare  — 

No  friend  to  cheer  me  anywhere. 


EXPANDING. 

We  have  got  the  Philippines, 
And  we  're  going  to  keep  them,  too ; 

And  we  '11  just  keep  on  expanding, 
With  the  Red,  the  White,  and  Blue. 

And  we  '11  make  them  Territories, 
And  "  some  day  "  when  the  Fates 

Have  brought  them  out  of  ignorance 
We  '11  coin  them  into  States. 


And  we  '11  get  a  chunk  of  China, 
When  the  pie  is  passed  around, 

And  shall  still  keep  on  expanding, 
While  we  're  living  overground. 

And  we  '11  civilize  the  heathens, 
With  "  Old  Glory  "  in  the  van ; 

Shoot  them  into  wealth  and  knowledge 
On  the  "  European  plan  " ! 

And  we  '11  preach  to  them  in  battle 

With  the  rifle  and  the  shell, 
And  if  they  don't  surrender 

We  will  blow  them  all  to  —  well ! 

We  are  Agents  of  Jehovah, 

And  our  Destiny  is  clear  ; 
So  we  '11  spread  our  laws  and  letters 

Without  favor,  fraud  or  fear. 

With  McKinley  as  Commander, 
And  his  "  Boys  "  behind  the  guns, 

We  '11  conquer  savage  Tagals, 
And  our  traitor  Goths  and  Huns  I 

And  we  '11  still  go  on  expanding, 
Like  our  Fathers  from  their  birth, 

Till  we  make  one  Grand  Republic 
Of  this  teeming,  glorious  earth ! 


DEWEY. 

O,  Dewey,  Georgie  Dewey, 
You  royal,  sly  old  mouse, 

Why  did  you  give  your  sweetheart 
Your  loving  cup  and  house? 

65 


And  then  to  cap  the  climax, 
And  change  your  sailor  life, 

You  did  n't  ask  the  Public 
To  choose  your  loving  wife. 

The  first  mistake  you  make,  George, 

Your  glory  will  decline  ; 
The  rabble  will  accuse  you 

Of  lushing  foreign  wine. 

And  if  you  look  on  woman, 

And  hear  her  siren  voice, 
They  '11  howl  you  to  the  echo 

Because  you  pick  your  choice. 

But  Dewey,  Georgie  Dewey, 

The  Public  is  a  clam, 
And  for  their  fickle  gabble 

You  shouldn't  give  a  damn. 

They  '11  praise  you  in  the  morning, 
And  censure  in  the  night, 

And  swear  that  at  Manila 
You  were  not  in  the  fight  ! 


GENIUS. 

[Dedicated  to  Leo  Wheat,  of  Virginia.] 

He  thrills  the  heart  with  grand,  poetic  numbers, 
And  plucks  the  crown  of  thorns  from  brows  of  care  ; 

He  wakes  and  thinks  what  time  the  sluggard  slumbers. 
And  scatters  gems  of  beauty  everywhere. 

Entrancing  music  with  voluptuous  swell 
He  casts  upon  the  weary,  mystic  mind  ; 


Sounding  as  sweetly  as  some  far-off  bell, 
Evolving  hope  and  love  for  all  mankind. 

The  canvas  glows  beneath  his  magic  hand 
With  forms  of  grace,  and  grace  that  is  divine; 

He  pictures  all  the  gems  of  sea  and  land, 
Securing  to  the  world  the  superfine. 

His  chisel  carves  the  marble  into  form 
Of  bust  and  statue,  pyramid  and  tower, 

Defying  ages  of  both  sun  and  storm 
To  crush  the  thought  that  thrilled  him  for  an  hour. 

And  yet  the  Genius,  with  his  suffering  soul, 
Oft  wanders  o'er  the  earth  misunderstood 

By  chattering  daws  who  never  reach  the  goal 
Of  knowing  how  to  do  their  fellows  good. 

But  when  he  'a  seen  no  more  in  field  or  town, 
And  all  his  mortal  part  lies  cold  and  dead, 

Some  sage  or  city  for  their  self-renown 
Will  give  a  shaft  where  once  he  needed  bread  ! 


DECORATION  POEM. 
[Soldiers'  Home,  Washington,  D.  C.,  May  30,  1885.] 

We  celebrate  and  dedicate 
This  day  of  blooming  flowers 

To  those  who  fell  for  yonder  flag, 
That  starry  flag  of  ours  — 
Defying  human  powers. 


57 


Where'er  we  roam,  this  Soldiers'  Home 

Can  never  be  forgot, 
While  airs  shall  blow  from  Mexico 

To  cheer  our  happy  lot 

And  sing  of  General  Scott. 

From  sun  to  sun,  while  ages  run, 
We  '11  sound  in  song  and  story 

The  record  of  these  noble  men 
Adown  the  aisles  of  glory, 
Who  fought  on  fields  so  gory. 

I  hear  again,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
The  cry  and  shot  of  battle  — 

The  neighing  steed,  our  wounded  bleed, 
The  roaring,  tearing  metal 
Where  cannons  loudly  rattle. 

These  mounds  shall  be,  to  all  the  free, 

A  shrine  for  loyal  greeting, 
Where  we  may  kneel,  in  woe  or  weal, 

While  happy  hours  are  fleeting, 

At  every  May-time  meeting, 

The  wild  long-roll  that  thrill'd  the  soul 
No  more  for  these  resounding ; 

But  calm  and  still  they  top  this  hill, 
Where  balmy  airs  are  bounding, 
And  life  is  not  confounding. 

And  memory  clings  where  love  still  sings 
Among  these  sacred  bowers, 

The  livelong  day  in  sunny  May, 
With  all  its  golden  hours, 
And  cool,  refreshing  showers. 


58 


No  autumn  blow,  nor  frost,  nor  snow, 
Can  chill  the  love  we  cherished 

For  men  so  true,  who  wore  the  blue, 
In  life  their  country  nourished, 
And  for  that  flag  they  perished. 

Their  loyal  dust  shall  be  a  trust 
To  this  devoted  nation, 

That  by  their  blood,  on  field  and  flood, 
Secured  a  new  salvation 
And  gained  great  approbation. 

No  slave  to-day  pollutes  our  way 

From  ocean  unto  ocean, 
But  great  and  free,  on  land  and  sea, 

Our  flag  floats  with  devotion  — 

Sweet  liberty  its  portion. 

And  o'er  these  graves  it  proudly  waves 
Where  roses  blush  in  billows, 

And  forest  leaves  break  ranks  to  grieve 
Above  their  soldier  pillows, 
Around  yon  weeping  willows. 

At  Sumter  hot,  where  shell  and  shot 
Tore  ramparts  from  their  mooring, 

These  fought  and  fell  in  that  red  hell  — 
A  desperate  alluring 
For  country  still  enduring. 

At  Shiloh,  too,  these  boys  in  blue 
Died  for  a  splendid  reason  — 

That  faith  and  trust  forever  must, 
In  every  State  and  season, 
Crush  out  the  hosts  of  treason. 


In  serried  lines,  'mid  oaks  and  pinen, 
I  see  their  bayonets  flashing  ; 

These  phantom  hosts  and  sainted  ghoste 
For  Union  still  are  dashing  — 
A  rude  rebellion  smashing. 

Die  for  a  plan,  the  rights  of  man, 

Our  country,  one  in  many, 
Where  all  are  blessed,  and  he  is  best 

That  can't  be  false  or  canny, 

And  will  not  stoop  to  any. 

Let  valor  yield  its  sword  and  shield 

To  patriots  and  free  men, 
And  honor  bright  both  day  and  night 

Crown  soldier  and  crown  seaman. 

And  scatter  every  demon. 

And  now  so  true,  "  the  boys  in  blue  " 
May  group  in  one  grand  rally, 

And  strew  with  love  to  those  above 
The  flowers  from  hill  and  valley, 
Along  Dame  Nature's  alley. 

Then  as  a  band  we  '11  firmly  stand, 

Defying  all  creation ; 
Round  Northern  pine  and  Southern  vine 

May  bloom  in  every  station  — 

A  fragrant,  sweet  oblation. 

Long  may  we  live  to  smile  and  give 

And  feel  no  separation  ; 
But  from  this  sod  we  '11  look  to  God, 

And  join  in  decoration  — 

One  grand,  United  Nation  ! 


60 


A  CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER. 

[To  the  memory  of  Thos.  J.  Luttreli.] 

A  manly  man  has  passed  away, 

He  rests  beneath  the  silent  sod. 
He  carried  sunshine  in  his  day, 

And  gave  his  heart  and  soul  to  God. 

In  war  and  peace  he  was  brave, 
Kept  duty  as  his  guide  and  chart ; 

Although  his  body  fills  the  grave, 
His  memory  lingers  in  the  heart. 

Peace  to  his  ashes,  rest  his  soul ; 

No  more  his  smiling  face  we  '11  see  ; 
He  's  reached  at  last  the  final  goal, 

And  shines  within  eternity. 

** 

THE  BATTLE  OF  SHILOH. 

Bands  were  playing,  horses  neighing, 

Soldiers  straying,  mules  were  braying; 

Banners  flying,  women  crying, 

Hearts  were  sighing,  many  dying; 

Onward,  backward,  all  uproarious, 

The  "  Gray  "  victorious,  the  "  Blue  "  was  glorious. 

The  field  was  won,  the  field  was  lost, 

Like  ocean  billows,  torn  and  tossed  ; 

And  on  the  bloody  beach  of  war, 

Waves  of  dead,  a  giant  scar  ; 

And  mangled  bodies  torn  and  pale, 

Like  forests  in  a  withering  gale. 

Up  the  hill  and  down  the  vale, 

Advance,  retreat,  but  never  fail ; 

Fix  bayonets,  forward,  guide  right ! 

A  shout,  a  yell ;  God !  what  a  sight. 


61 


At  them  again  through  smoke  and  fire ; 

Fight  and  fall,  but  ne'er  retire. 

Once  more  to  the  breach,  steady,  strike  — 

Blood,  broken  bones,  who  saw  the  like 

Never  forgets  through  the  long  years 

That  call  up  our  smiles  and  our  tears. 

Capture  cannon,  capture  men, 

Crash,  smash,  at  them  again  ! 

Hark  to  the  yell  of  Cleburne's  men, 

They  rush  like  demons  through  the  glen, 

Driving  the  "  Blue  "  toward  the  river, 

And  many  are  lost  forever. 

Sherman  shouts  "  Halt!  right  about,  charge!  " 

Then  down  through  the  brush  and  the  gorge 

The  "  Gray  "  in  turn  are  flying. 

Lord  !  how  the  soldiers  are  dying. 

McClernand,  McCook  stand  at  bay, 

While  Wallace  is  lost  on  the  way 

To  the  field  where  Prentiss  surrenders 

To  the  South  and  its  brave  defenders. 

Cheatham,  Withers,  Gibson,  and  Bragg 

Stand  out  like  a  wild,  rocky  crag 

And  beat  back  the  bold  invaders ; 

At  last  they  are  crushed  by  the  raiders. 

Then  Crittenden,  Hurlbut,  and  Wood 

With  many  brave  heroes  withstood 

Charge  after  charge,  through  the  rain 

Of  bullets  that  whizzed  o'er  the  plain. 

Webster  shouts,  "  Park  and  unlimber  !  " 

Shot  and  shell  right  through  the  timber  — 

Cannons  that  growl  like  December, 

Sounds  that  we  long  shall  remember, 

Shriek  like  the  roar  from  a  burning  hell ! 

Sending  the  foe  to  the  rear  pell-mell ! 


Danger  and  death  so  fierce  and  hard 
To  the  halting  troops  of  Beauregard ! 
Sunday's  sun  has  gone  at  last, 
Rushing  rains  are  falling  fast 
On  the  faces  cold  as  lead, 
On  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Brave  Sidney  Johnston  led  the  "  Gray," 
But  Fate  cut  off  his  life  that  day, 
And  Beauregard  could  not  repel 
The  Union  fire  —  a  blast  from  hell, 
Where  cannon  thundered  o'er  the  glen 
And  shattered  horses,  boys,  and  men. 
Then  Monday's  sun  arose  in  a  gloom 
And  spread  its  clouds  above  this  tomb, 
Where  Grant  and  Buell  joined  to  smash 
The  stubborn  "  Gray  "  with  one  dread  crash. 
But  still  the  "  Gray  "  declined  to  yield, 
And  fought  like  tigers  on  the  field  — 
Till  wave  on  wave  "  the  boys  in  blue  " 
Rolled  o'er  these  Southern  hearts  so  true  — 
While  Sherman  over  swamp  and  bridge 
Dashed  on  the  gallant  Breckinndge ! 
The  day  was  won,  the  day  was  lost, 
And  twenty  thousand  told  the  cost, 
Where  brothers  bled  and  brothers  died  — 
A  ruin  with  its  crimson  tide, 
That  flowed  for  you  and  flowed  for  me 
On  the  torn  banks  of  the  Tennessee ! 
The  sun  goes  down,  the  stars  are  set, 
That  bloody  field  we  can't  forget 
While  valor  holds  a  deathless  sway 
And  honor  crowns  the  "  Blue  "  and  "  Gray." 
It  may  be  that  the  winking  "  stars  " 
Contain  the  men  who  loved  the  "  bars  " — 


And  that  those  gallant,  noble  types 
Join  hands  with  those  who  loved  the  stripes. 
But  "  stars  "  and  "  bars  "  and  "  red  "  and  "  blue  " 
And  "  stripes  "  and  "  stars  "  wave  over  you ; 
Our  Nation  fills  our  fame  today  — 
The  "  red  "  is  "  Blue  "  and  the  "  blue  "  is  "  Gray 
A  thousand  years  of  glory 

Shall  immortalize  our  fame  — 
With  a  tale  in  song  and  story 

To  keep  green  the  hallowed  name 
Of  the  victor  and  the  vanquished, 

On  the  land  and  on  the  sea, 
A  band  of  noble  brothers 

Led  by  gallant  Grant  and  Lee. 
And  the  tears  of  beaming  beauty 

Shall  freshen  every  flower  — 
In  the  May-time  of  our  duty, 

Through  the  sunlit,  fleeting  hour. 
Then  we  '11  strew  the  rarest  roses 

O'er  the  graves  we  bless  to-day, 
And  we  '11  pluck  the  purest  posies 

To  enwreath  the  "  Blue  "  and  "  Gray." 
And  down  the  circling  ages, 

From  the  father  to  the  son, 
We  '11  tell  on  golden  pages 

How  the  field  was  lost  and  won  ; 
And  how  a  band  of  brothers 

Fought  each  other  hard  and  true 
To  bind  the  Union  arches 

O'er  the  "  Gray  "  and  o'er  the  "  Blue," 
And  reared  a  lasting  temple 

So  complete  in  every  plan, 
To  justice,  truth,  and  mercy 

And  the  liberty  of  man. 


VANITY. 

[Dedicated  to  Henry  T.  Stanton,  Kentucky.] 

Sweet  thoughts  that  we  can  not  repeat, 
And  songs  that  we  never  can  sing, 

Arise  in  the  brain  but  to  meet 
And  speed  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

A  light  or  a  flash  on  the  wave 
Is  the  life  that  we  live  to-day  — 

A  memory  gone  to  the  grave, 
Or  the  laugh  of  a  child  at  play. 

A  glance  at  this  world  of  beauty, 
A  bubble  that  floats  on  the  sea  : 

To  hope  and  to  die  for  duty, 
And  sink  to  eternitv. 


THE  SUTLER. 

•'  I  will  a  sutler  be  that  profits  may  accrue."  — 
[Dedicated  to  Dick  Turpin.] 

1  sing  the  song  of  the  sutler, 

Who  fought  in  the  battle  of  life, 
The  song  of  the  prize-package  "  artist," 

Who  never  got  into  the  strife ; 
Not  the  jubilant  song  of  the  soldier, 

Who  never  forgot  to  lay  claim 
To  the  greenbacks  that  stuck  in  the  "  Jack  Pot 

At  the  end  of  a  winter-night  game, — 
But  the  song  of  the  beautiful  sutler, 

WTho  traveled  in  sunshine  and  rain, 
For  the  sake  of  the  almighty  dollar 

And  whatever  else  he  could  gain. 


66 


And  his  youth  bore  no  flower  on  its  branches, 

But  his  age  was  a  bright,  sunny  day  ; 
For  the  prize  that  he  gloriously  grasped  at 

Was  the  cash  that  he  carried  away. 
And  the  work  that  he  did  for  the  army 

In  the  rear  of  the  soldiers  was  seen, 
Where  he  set  up  his  crackers  and  herrings, 

And  the  smell  of  the  festive  sardine 
That  he  sold  to  the  "  boys  "  on  a  credit, 

Or  the  clamp  of  a  paymaster's  lease ; 
And  six  boxes  he  gave  for  five  dollars, 

While  the  rest  brought  a  dollar  apiece. 
While  the  world  at  large  sheds  a  tear 

To  the  hero  that  may  be  bereft, 
I  drink  to  the  Grand  Army  Sutler 

Who  never  was  known  to  get  left ! 
Who  rushed  to  the  front,  when  the  camp-fires 

Lit  up  all  the  hills,  without  fear ; 
But  at  the  first  crack  of  the  rifle 

He  galloped  away  to  the  rear, 
With  his  pipes,  his  tobacco,  and  whiskey, 

And  his  barrels  of  sour  lager  beer ; 
And  he  never  let  up  on  his  running 

Till  the  Long  Bridge  appeared  to  his  view, 
Where  he  opened  up  shop  in  his  wagon, 

And  roped-in  the  gay  "  boys  in  blue." 
How  he  held  to  his  faith  unseduced, 

With  the  glint  of  the  cash  in  his  eye  ; 
And  for  this  great  cause  how  he  suffered  ! 

For  the  cash,  not  the  country,  he  'd  die ! 
Then  rear  to  the  sutler  a  temple, 

Of  granite  and  brass  that  will  stay, 
Where  the  spirit  of  Shylock  shall  hover, 

And  beam  on  the  "  Blue  "  and  the  "  Gray"  ; 


Who  once  paid  a  tribute  to  genius, 
With  a  gall  that  no  mortal  could  rule, 

And  a  smile  like  a  lightning-rod  peddler, 
And  a  cheek  like  the  Grand  Army  Mule ! 


ALBION. 

[Dedicated  to  Hon.  John  W.  Daniel,  United  States  Senator,  Virginia.  | 

Hurrah  for  old  Albion,  the  robber  of  nations ! 

She  murders  and  riots  o'er  weakness  and  toil. 
An  octopus,  devilfish,  seeking  all  stations  — 

To  capture  and  enter,  devour  and  despoil. 

From  days  of  King  Alfred  her  mission  of  might 
Has  reddened  the  earth  with  the  blood  of  the  brave, 

And  those  that  she  could  not  cut  loose  from  the  right, 
She  killed  them  and  lashed  them  and  made  them  her 
slave. 

But  the  day  of  her  destiny  rapidly  goes, 
And  the  star  of  her  fate  approaches  decline ; 

She  's  menaced  by  nature,  by  fortune  and  foes  — 
The  wreck  of  ambition,  the  last  of  her  line. 

And  her  dukes,  lords  and  earls  shall  soon  pass  away, 

By  force  of  the  light  that  Liberty  throws 
O'er  rude,  rotten  royalty,  sin  and  decay, 

The  breeder  and  author  of  all  human  woes. 

For  gold  she  has  plundered  the  wealth  of  the  world  ; 

A  tyrant  and  bigot,  the  worst  of  our  race. 
From  sweet,  happy  homes  she  has  exiled  and  hurled 

Her  children,  without  any  mercy  or  grace ! 

67 


DECORATION  DAY  POEM. 
[Oak  Hill  Cemetery,  May  30, 1895.] 

Grand  Home  of  the  Dead  !  we  mourn  as  we  tread 

Near  the  forms  that  crumble  below  ; 
How  sad  and  how  still  the  graves  on  Oak  Hill, 

'Neath  the  sunlight  in  bright  golden  glow. 

Here  's  a  rough,  rude  stone,  moss-grown  and  alone, 

Where  old  Time  has  left  not  a  trace 
Of  the  name  it  bore  in  the  days  of  yore, 

After  brain  and  body  ceased  race. 

Vain,  vain  is  the  thought;  no  one  ever  bought 

Exemption  from  final  decay  — 
To  live  and  to  rot,  and  then  be  forgot, 

The  fate  of  the  quick  of  to-day. 

The  soldier  and  eage  from  age  unto  age 
Have  slept  'neath  these  towering  trees ; 

The  young  and  the  old,  the  bright  and  the  bold 
Are  sung  by  the  breath  of  the  breeze. 

Brave  Babcock  in  peace  here  finds  his  surcease 
From  sorrows  that  troubled  his  life  ; 

And  rests  with  his  God,  beneath  the  green  sod, 
Away  from  this  cold  world  of  strife. 

Here  Reno  retires  from  war's  flaming  fires 

To  shine  with  immortals  above, 
And  bivouac  there,  devoid  of  all  care, 

In  realms  of  infinite  love. 

Here  Morris,  the  brave,  a  king  of  the  wave, 

Doth  slumber  beneath  the  old  flag  ; 
Hero  so  grand,  on  the  famed  "  Cumberland," 

And  bold  as  a  tall  mountain  crag. 


While  ocean  shall  roar  on  rock-beaten  shore, 

The  memory  of  Morris  shall  be 
A  great  loyal  light  for  freedom's  fair  fight 

On  river,  on  land,  and  on  sea. 

And  Stanton,  the  grand,  stood  out  for  this  land, 
When  Rebellion  reared  up  its  fierce  face ; 

Calmly  reposes  'neath  beds  of  sweet  roses  — 
A  lone  hero,  in  war's  ruin  race. 

His  great  iron  arm  kept  the  Union  from  harm 
While  he  smashed  all  the  foes  in  its  way  — 

As  great  Lincoln,  his  Chief,  looked  on  with  deep  grief 
At  the  war  'twixt  the  Blue  and  the  Gray. 

As  years  roll  along,  with  sorrow  or  song, 
His  name  shall  grow  braver  and  brighter  — 

A  Puritan  true,  who  knew  what  to  do 
With  soldiers  and  Grant,  the  great  fighter. 

Here  sleeps  fine  Van  Ness  who  knew  no  distress, 

While  Burns  expended  his  gold  ; 
A  Senator  true,  who  b'lieved  in  the  Blue, 

A  gentleman,  honest  and  bold. 

Great  Lorenzo  Dow,  who  never  knew  how 

To  garnish  his  truth  with  a  lie, 
Sleeps  under  these  flowers,  through  May's  golden  hours, 

Illumined  by  the  sun  and  the  sky. 

Here  Corcoran,  the  sage,  Bishop  Pinckney,  broad  gauge, 

Repose  under  marble  so  white ; 
They  've  gone  to  a  land,  bright,  blooming,  and  grand, 

Where  never,  up  there,  is  a  night. 

Here  John  Howard  Payne  sings  again  that  refrain 
That  thrills  us  wherever  we  roam ; 


O'er  land  or  o'er  sea,  our  hearts  still  shall  be 
The  Mecca  of  dear  Home,  Sweet  Home. 

O'er  the  flight  of  the  years,  with  smiles  or  with  tears, 

The  memory  of  Payne  shall  remain  ; 
And  millions  unborn,  in  twilight  and  morn 

Shall  sing  his  immortal  refrain. 

Let  soldier  and  sage  from  age  unto  age 
Richly  have  all  their  merit  and  praise ; 

But  the  poet  will  be  a  light  for  the  free 
To  the  end  of  our  last  dawning  days. 

Count  Bodisco  sleeps  here,  where  trees  shed  a  tear 

O'er  the  grave  of  the  Muscovite  peer ; 
Away  from  all  ill,  he  rests  on  Oak  Hill, 

A  memory  from  year  unto  year. 

Dick  Merrick  lies  here,  a  bright,  brilliant  seer, 

A  lawyer  of  lingering  renown, 
Who  fought  every  wrong  of  the  cruel  and  strong 

In  county  or  city  or  town. 

Here  rests  the  bright  Elaine,  in  sunshine  and  rain, 

"Who  left  his  imprint  on  the  Nation, 
A  keen,  brainy  mind,  devoted  and  kind, 

Well  fitted  to  fill  a  great  station. 

No  shaft  marks  his  grave  to  tell  traveler  or  slave 
Where  that  proud,  loyal  heart  lowly  lies ; 

Yet  the  tall  pines  of  Maine  sigh  in  sorrow  for  Elaine 
As  they  toss  their  green  heads  to  the  skies. 

Our  sweet  little  child,  so  simple  and  mild, 

Sleeps  here  under  roses  so  fair  ; 
Yet,  soon  we  shall  go  to  a  clime  where  no  woe 

Or  sighs  can  corrode  us  with  care. 

70 


Mother  and  sister,  sweetheart  and  wife, 
•  Repose  from  their  labors  on  earth  ; 
Resting  alone,  away  from  all  strife, 
Where  the  soul  finds  a  happy,  new  birth. 

Yet  the  citizens  dead  have  always  been  wed 
To  Liberty,  Friendship,  and  Truth  — 

Must  be  honored  as  well  as  soldiers  who  fell 
In  the  pride  of  their  brave,  loyal  youth. 

Then,  strew  sweetest  flowers  o'er  the  soldier ; 

But  remember  the  citizen,  too, 
Who  stood  by  his  conscience  in  trouble— 

And  supported  the  Gray  or  the  Blue. 

God  bless  our  grand  Nation  forever, 
God  bless  every  heart  fond  and  true  ; 

God  bless  any  soul  that  won't  sever 
The  Gray  from  the  Red,  White,  and  Blue ! 


KENTUCKY. 

[Dedicated  to  the  memory  of  Daniel  Boone.] 

I  have  known  many  heroes  of  fame, 
Many  men  who  were  brave,  bright  and  plucky, 

But  I  never  knew  any  more  "  game  " 
Than  those  who  were  bred  in  Kentucky. 

For  they  fought  the  "  Red  Coats  "  at  Orleans 
Through  swamps  that  were  broad,  low  and  mucky, 

And  held  up  "  the  Stars  and  Stripes  " 
For  great  Jackson  and  "  dear  old  Kentucky." 

It 's  the  land  of  brave  women  and  men, 
"  Blue  Grass  "  and  fast  horses  so  lucky  ; 

And  you  '11  find  there  the  real  "  Upper  Ten," 
And  "  Old  Bourbon,"  the  wine  of  Kentucky. 


71 


THE  MEN  BEHIND  THE  GUNS. 
[Dedicated  to  ,\. l mini!  Schley.] 

The  men  behind  the  guns 
Are  ever  rough  and  ready ; 

They  fire  to  wound  and  kill, 
Their  aim  is  quick  and  steady. 

They  simply  know  their  duty 

On  battle-field  or  sea, 
Because  their  hearts  are  centered 

In  law  and  liberty. 

The  love  they  bear  their  country 
Is  pure  as  prayers  of  nuns  ; 

Columbia  can't  be  conquered 
While  they  stand  behind  her  guns. 

And  when  the  war  is  over, 

From  rise  to  set  of  suns, 
We  '11  cheer  unto  the  echo 

The  men  behind  the  guns. 

When  honors  are  divided 
And  Uncle  Sam  has  funds, 

He  surely  must  remember 
The  men  behind  the  guns. 

And  Schley  shall  have  great  honors, 
When  official  Goths  and  Huns 

Are  buried  with  the  cowards 
That  fell  before  his  guns ! 


72 


DECORATION  DAY  POEM. 

[Delivered  at  Winchester,  Va.,  May  30,  1898,  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Union  Veteran  Union.] 

A  beautiful  scene  is  this  valley  so  green, 

Shut  in  by  its  ridges  and  mountains ; 
An  Arden  it  seems  of  a  poet's  bright  dreams, 

With  its  fields  and  its  crystalline  fountains. 

The  tall  peaks  look  down  upon  Winchester  town, 

Old  Winchester,  noted  in  story, 
Whose  daughters  are  true  as  empyrean  blue  — 

Whose  sons  are  Virginia's  great  glory ! 

Oft  Winchester  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  flood, 

As  a  cliff  meets  the  angry  sea-surges ; 
While  death  rode  the  blast  as  the  grim  warrior  passed, 

And  the  bells  of  her  love  tolled  sad  dirges  ! 

No  more  in  her  streets  the  hostile  drum  beats, 

No  longer  the  broken  line  rallies  ; 
A  beautiful  gem  in  a  queen's  diadem, 

She  rests  in  the  fairest  of  valleys. 

We  're  gathered  to-day  to  honor  the  clay 

Of  heroes  who  fell  for  the  nation  ; 
We  still  deeply  grieve  as  garlands  we  weave 

To  give  them  a  floral  ovation. 

The  tears  that  we  shed  o'er  dearly-loved  dead 

Are  tributes  we  pay  to  their  glory ; 
With  hearts  ever  true  to  the  boys  who  wore  blue, 

Who  '11  live  long  in  song  and  in  story. 

They  fought  and  they  died  in  the  battle's  red  tide, 
Whose  waves  broke  around  them  and  o'er  them ; 

Advance  and  retreat  —  fierce  charges  to  meet  — 
The  lines  that  stood  sternly  before  them. 

73 


The  stare  and  the  bars  stood  many  rough  jars, 
Shining  bright  as  the  nleel  the  foe  carried  ; 

The  red,  white,  and  blue  —  the  flag  of  the  true  — 
Blend  our  colors,  commingled  and  married. 

Thus  shall  our  flag  wave,  the  pride  of  the  brave, 

The  emblem  of  hope  and  salvation. 
United  we  stand,  with  hand  clasped  in  hand, 

To  shield  this  magnificent  nation. 

On  land  and  on  seas  our  flag  braves  the  breeze ; 

We  're  a  nation  of  brothers  united, 
And  naught  can  befall  a  union  where  all 

Will  see  that  each  wrong  shall  be  righted. 

These  comrades  who  sleep  in  silence  so  deep, 

In  bivouacs  on  hilltops  eternal, 
Shall  be  dear  to  each  soul  while  the  years  onward  roll. 

And  their  brave  deeds  shall  live  fresh  and  vernal. 

The  fountains  and  rills  make  vocal  the  hills 
Where  the  wild  Shenandoah  is  leaping ; 

They  murmur  sweet  praise  in  these  bright  golden  days 
O'er  the  graves  where  our  heroes  are  sleeping. 

Ah,  think  of  that  day,  when  both  Blue  and  Gray 

Stood  the  shock  of  the  cannon's  loud  thunder ; 
When  the  stars  and  the  bars  on  the  dread  field  of  Mars 

Were  shattered  and  riven  asunder. 
We  can  not  forget,  during  life's  busy  fret, 

Our  dead  and  their  sacred  devotion ; 
The  foe  we  forgive,  and  trust  all  may  live 

For  Union  from  ocean  to  ocean. 
Yon  blue  mountain  wall  will  ever  recall 

Those  brave  hearts  in  battle  contending ; 
Americans  all,  whom  naught  could  appall, 

When  home,  love,  and  beauty  defending. 

74 


And  now  at  this  day  the  Blue  and  the  Gray 
'  Love  the  flag  that  great  Washington  gave  us  ; 
As  patriots  true,  the  Gray  and  the  Blue 
Will  crush  every  foe  that  dares  brave  us. 

So  let  brothers  entwine  the  palmetto  and  pine, 

The  palm  and  the  laurel  forever  ; 
The  Gray  and  the  Blue  must  stand  firm  and  true 

In  bonds  that  no  mortal  can  sever  ! 


GRANT  'S  MUSTERED  OUT! 

Half-mast  the  flag,  a  heart  brave  and  stout 
Surrenders  at  last  ;  Grant  's  mustered  out  ! 
Toll  the  bell  slowly,  moisten  his  sod, 
Peace  to  his  ashes,  glory  to  God  ! 

Battle  and  trial  shall  never  again 
Harrow  the  hero  in  sunshine  or  rain  ; 
Gone  to  a  land  devoid  of  all  doubt, 
His  service  is  over  —  Grant  's  mustered  out  ! 

His  fame,  like  a  light,  shall  shine  through  the  years, 
Hallowed  by  memory  and  watered  by  tears  — 
Flags  that  he  carried  shall  long  flap  and  flout, 
A  record  of  glory  is  not  mustered  out  ! 

Donelson,  Shiloh,  the  Wilderness,  too, 
Milestones  immortal  with  deeds  of  the  Blue  ; 
And  this  is  the  man  that  never  knew  rout, 
Till  fate  told  the  world  that  Grant  's  mustered  out  ! 

Nations  unborn  shall  visit  his  tomb, 
Reared  by  the  people  and  lasting  as  doom,  — 
Mecca  where  manhood  may  kneel  without  doubt, 
Truth  everlasting  is  not  mustered  out  ! 


7-3 


HUERAH ! 
[Dedicated  to  Hon.  Wm.  K.  Mason.  J 

Hurrah  for  the  Yankees  on  land  or  on  sea ; 
Hurrah  for  the  heroes  of  Grant  and  of  Lee  ; 
Hurrah  for  the  Union,  to  eternal  day  ; 
Hurrah  for  the  pluck  of  the  Blue  and  the  Gray  ! 

Hurrah  for  the  House,  and  the  Senate  so  true ; 
Hurrah  for  "  Old  Glory,"  the  Red,  White  and  Blue  ; 
Hurrah  for  the  soldier  who  battles  for  right ; 
Hurrah  for  the  man  who  strikes  first  in  the  fight ! 

Hurrah  for  the  Nation  ;  hurrah  once  again  ; 
Hurrah  for  the  Yankees  who  '11  whip  dastard  Spain 
Hurrah  for  Columbia,  the  pride  of  the  world  ; 
Hurrah  for  her  banner  that 's  ever  unfurled  ! 


MY  COUNTRY. 

My  country,  may  you  ever  be 

A  land  of  love  and  liberty  — 

A  land  so  brave,  so  true  and  strong, 

But  still  my  country, —  right  or  wrong ! 

My  country,  let  your  cause  be  just, 
And  in  the  people  you  can  trust, 
While  honor  shall  your  fame  prolong  — 
My  country  always, —  right  or  wrong ! 

My  country,  happy  be  your  days, 
And  may  you  fill  the  mouths  of  praise, 
And  may  you  live  in  joy  and  song  — 
God  bless  my  country, —  right  or  wrong ! 


76 


"  REMEMBER  THE  MAINE !  " 
[Dedicated  to  Captain  Sigsbee.] 

Remember  the  Maine,  strike  first  in  the  fight; 
Clear  decks  for  action  and  shoot  for  the  right; 
The  treacherous  Spaniards  we  '11  sink  in  the  sea, 
By  heroes  who  battled  with  Grant  and  with  Lee. 

Remember  the  Maine  and  the  flag  of  the  free  — 
That  never  was  conquered  on  land  or  on  sea  ; 
Its  colors  so  brilliant,  so  glorious  and  true  — 
The  hope  of  the  world  —  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. 

Remember  the  Maine  in  the  midst  of  the  battle; 
Strike  down  to  the  death  where  black  cannons  rattle 
On  ocean  or  mountain,  on  valley  or  plain  — 
Remember  forever,  remember  the  Maine ! 


OUR  STARRY  BANNER. 

Go,  fling  our  banner  to  the  breeze ; 

Avenge  at  once  the  lost  ship  Maine; 
And  drive  the  foe  from  land  and  seas  — 

The  treacherous,  cruel,  dastard  Spain. 

In  triumph  let  it  wave  in  air, 
AVith  all  its  patriot  folds  unfurled ; 

Its  stars  and  stripes  still  shining  there, 
The  pride  and  hope  of  all  the  world. 

Columbia  knows  her  strength  and  power : 
Ten  million  men  defend  her  shore ; 

Her  loyal  sons  from  hour  to  hour 
Can  fight  and  win  forevermore. 


77 


We  know  no  North,  we  know  no  South  ; 

We  're  one  in  heart  and  soul  to-day  — 
United  at  the  cannon's  mouth 

You  '11  find  the  brilliant  "  Blue"  and  "  Gray. 

Ten  million  cheers  from  sea  to  sea 

Resound  upon  the  ambient  air, 
Proclaiming  Law  and  Liberty 

For  all  the  people  everywhere. 


RAWLINS. 

[Delivered  at  Arlington  National  Cemetery  recently  on  the  reinter- 
ment of  the  late  General  and  Secretary  of  War  John  A.  Rawlins.] 

His  race  is  run,  his  work  is  done  ; 
From  morning  light  to  set  of  sun 
He  did  his  duty,  brave  and  true  — 
A  glorious  man  who  wore  the  "  Blue." 

He  held  his  course  through  rain  of  lead, 
Where  fell  the  dying  and  the  dead  ; 
And  honor  was  his  highest  prize  — 
That  jewel  from  the  shining  skies. 

From  Captain,  and  a  Double  Star, 
He  rose  to  Minister  of  War, 
And  kept  his  conscience  pure  and  clear, 
Without  a  blot,  a  blur  or  fear. 

He  loved  the  State  of  Illinois, 
And  cheered  her  grand  heroic  Boys  — 
A  battle  line,  so  fierce  and  free  — 
"  The  Army  of  the  Tennessee  !  " 

78 


At  Donaldson,  and  Shiloh,  too, 
He  stood  with  Grant,  so  brave  and  true, 
And  never  faltered,  night  or  day  — 
To  charge  upon  the  gallant  "  Gray," 

But  when  the  fires  of  war  could  cease 

He  sheathed  his  sword  and  prayed  for  peace 

And  ever  after  did  imbue 

A  love  between  the  "  Gray  "  and  "  Blue." 

Long  may  his  name  and  memory  be 
A  treasure  to  the  brave  and  free, 
Who  fight  on  field,  on  hill  and  sea, 
For  God,  and  Home,  and  Liberty. 

While  ages  roll  from  pole  to  pole, 
Each  honest  heart  and  lofty  soul 
Shall  keep  thy  record  clear  and  bright 
As  stars  that  glitter  in  the  night. 

The  grand  old  Post  that  bears  thy  name 
For  many  years  shall  sound  thy  fame, 
And  on  each  Decoration  day 
Shall  strew  thy  grave  with  flowers  of  May. 

And  "Arlington  "  shall  ever  keep 
A  guardian  angel  o'er  thy  sleep ; 
And  yonder  flag  shall  ever  wave 
Its  brilliant  colors  o'er  thy  grave  — 
Near  comrades  that  you  loved  in  life, 
Who  fell  amid  the  battle  strife, 
Where  brother's  tears  and  brother's  blood 
Flowed  freely  in  a  crimson  flood, 
That  guaranteed  from  sea  to  sea  — 
The  Union  to  eternity  ! 


THE  OLD  SOLDIERS. 

Our  ranks  are  growing  thinner,  every  year, 

And  death  is  still  a  winner,  every  year; 

Yet  we  still  must  stick  together 

Like  the  toughest  kind  of  leather, 

And  in  any  kind  of  weather,  every  year. 

Our  comrades  have  departed,  every  year, 

And  leave  us  broken-hearted,  every  year  ; 

But  their  spirits  fondly  greet  us 

And  constantly  entreat  us 

To  come  that  they  might  meet  us,  every  year. 

Our  steps  are  growing  slower,  every  year  ; 

Pale  death  is  still  a  mower,  every  year ; 

Yet  we  faced  him  in  the  battle, 

Amid  the  musket's  rattle, 

And  defied  his  final  edict,  every  year. 

We  are  growing  old  and  lonely,  every  year  ; 

We  have  recollection  only,  every  year ; 

And  we  bled  for  this  grand  nation, 

On  many  a  field  and  station, 

And  with  any  kind  of  ration,  every  year. 

Many  people  may  forget  us,  every  year, 

And  our  enemies  may  fret  us,  every  year ; 

But,  while  onward  we  are  drifting, 

Our  souls  with  hopes  are  lifting, 

To  heavenly  scenes  still  shifting,  every  year. 

In  the  maytime  of  the  flowers,  every  year, 

We  shall  live  in  golden  hours,  every  year ; 

And  our  deeds  be  sung  in  story 

Down  the  ages  growing  hoary  — 

With  a  blaze  of  living  glory,  every  year ! 


INDEPENDENCE. 

[Dedicated  to  Gen.  Fitzhugh  Lee.] 

Independence  is  our  boast ; 
Truth  itself  is  still  a  host ; 
Cuba  must  and  shall  be  free  — 
God  is  law  and  liberty  ! 

Act  to-day,  and  not  to-morrow ; 
Cowards  end  in  shame  and  sorrow  ; 
Time  is  flitting  fast  away  — 
Forward,  fight  and  win  to-day  ! 

Independence  now,  or  death  ; 
Freedom  to  our  latest  breath  ; 
Lord  of  Hosts  be  with  us  yet  — 
For  the  Maine  we  can't  forget ! 

¥¥ 

STANTON. 

Immortal  Stanton  !  thy  name  and  fame  shall  grow 
While  all  our  lakes  and  streams  shall  flash  and  flow, 
Or  while  Columbia  holds  her  onward  sway, 
And  lifts  her  eyes  to  greet  the  God  of  day. 

Great  Lincoln  and  your  own  strong  iron  arm 
Defended  this  loved  land  from  hurt  and  harm  ; 
And  that  proud  flag  that  waves  so  proud  in  air 
Shall  flash  your  glory  while  a  star  is  there ! 

As  ages  come  and  generations  go, 
You  '11  be  to  us  a  fearless,  brave  Carnot, 
Who  knew,  and  felt  his  duty  to  the  last, 
And  never  faltered  till  rebellion  past. 


81 


Green  is  your  memory,  and  glorious  is  your  grave  ; 
Forever,  over  mountain  crag  and  wave, 
Your  loyal  name  shall  shine  as  pure  and  bright 
As  stars  that  glitter  in  an  arctic  night. 

A  State,  with  pride,  may  claim  your  brilliant  birth, 
But  names  like  yours  belong  to  all  the  earth  ; 
For  he  who  toils,  and  dies  in  Freedom's  cause, 
Shall  reign  o'er  this  great  world  with  love  and  laws. 

"  The  Boys  in  Blue,"  and  every  Union  soul, 
Shall  sound  your  praises  while  the  centuries  roll, 
And  honor  with  unfading  flowers  of  fame 
Shall  twine  her  tributes  round  your  deathless  name 

¥¥ 

THE  SOLDIER. 

[Written  for  the  Sank  and  File.] 

While  lauding  Generals  to  the  skies, 

And  standing  round  their  sculptured  form, 
Let 's  not  forget  to  recognize 

The  rank  and  file  who  braved  the  storm  ; 
Who  bared  their  breasts  where  bullets  flew ; 

Who  fell  in  valley,  glade  and  glen  ; 
Who  died  in  shot-torn  rags  of  blue ; 

Who  starved  in  loathsome  prison  pen  ! 

Let 's  rear  a  towering  shaft  of  stone, 

To  pierce  the  blue  and  arching  sky, 
To  some  dead  picket,  name  —  "  Unknown," 

Who  gave  our  land  his  parting  sigh  ; 
And  on  the  top  we  '11  place  his  form, 

To  catch  eternal  morning  light, 
To  stand  through  sunshine  and  through  storm, 

For  Freedom,  Union,  God  and  Right ! 


UNCLE  SAM. 

Uncle  Sam  needs  more  expansion 

For  a  giant  of  his  size, 
And  a  lofty  marble  mansion, 

Reaching  upward  to  the  skies  ; 
His  pantaloons  ain't  big  enough, 

His  hat  is  much  too  small, 
He  's  on  a  raid  to  get  the  stuff — 

I  guess  he  '11  take  it  all. 

It 's  no  use  mincing  matters 

When  you  're  out  upon  a  raid, 
The  game  is  never  finished 

'Til  each  fellow's  hand  is  played. 
We  must  stand  by  faithful  Cuba, 

And  by  Porto  Rico,  too  ; 
The  Philippines  must  follow, 

As  a  debt  to  Dewey  due  ! 

Then  with  Hawaii  and  Canaries 

Uncle  Sam  can  have  some  mirth  — 
Swell  and  grow  to  vast  proportions, 

'Til  he  owns  the  teeming  earth  ; 
Then  we  '11  flash  out  dear  "  Old  Glory, 

Keep  her  evermore  unfurled, 
'Til  the  freedom  that  we  now  enjoy 

Encircles  all  the  world. 
When  every  land  and  kingdom, 

And  every  serf  and  slave, 
Shall  light  the  torch  of  liberty 

O'er  every  clime  and  wave  — 
And  only  men  of  merit 

Shall  rule  upon  this  sphere, 
Who  know  but  truth  and  justice, 

Devoid  of  fraud  and  fear. 


The  Dukes  and  Kings  and  Prince* 

Have  had  their  wicked  ways, 
But  sure  as  Truth  is  mighty, 

Uncle  Sam  nhall  have  his  days. 
The  people  can't  be  conquered, 

And  earth  can't  hold  a  slave  ; 
This  world  was  made  for  manhood, 

For  the  brainy  and  the  brave. 

¥¥ 

THE  DEAD  OF  THE  MAINE. 

[Dedicated  to  Captain  Charles  D.  Sigsbee.] 

The  funeral  train  is  passing  by, 
With  mournful,  measured  tread  ; 

A  solemn  dirge  sounds  on  the  air 
In  honor  of  the  dead. 

No  more  shall  battle  shouts  resound, 
For  those  who  once  were  brave ; 

Yet  Glory  weaves  her  brightest  wreath 
To  decorate  their  grave. 

And  loving  hands  and  hearts  shall  raise 

A  shaft  of  lofty  form, 
To  stand  while  tide  and  time  remain  — 

Defying  sun  and  storm. 

Their  names  engraven  there  shall  be 

To  show  that  not  in  vain 
Died  any  of  the  heroes  true 

Who  sank  within  the  Maine. 

Their  memory  shall  be  cherished  long 

As  ocean  waters  roll, 
And  Fame  shall  sound  their  lasting  praise 

On  earth,  from  pole  to  pole. 


And  those  who  for  their  country  die 
On  blood-red  fields  of  Mars, 

Shall  shine  adown  the  coming  years 
Like  central  suns  and  stars. 

There  Honor,  in  her  richest  garb, 

Shall  come  in  sunny  hours 
To  place  above  their  hallowed  tomb 

Her  sweetest,  rarest  flowers. 

While  Luna  with  her  mystic  rays 
Diffused  through  creeping  cloud 

Shall  knit  for  these  in  midnight  rounds 
Her  spirit,  ghost-like  shroud. 

And  over  all,  the  God  of  Truth 

Shall  reign  forever  more, 
Until  the  human  race  shall  rest 

On  yon  eternal  shore ! 


TEAR  DOWN  THE  FLAG! 

Tear  down  the  flag,  the  shining  rag 

That  would  a  man  enslave ; 
A  tyrant  he,  on  land  and  sea, 

Who  tramples  on  the  brave. 

Who  would  be  free,  on  land  or  sea, 

Must  strike  himself  the  blow ; 
And  though  he  's  weak,  with  prospect  bleak, 

He  '11  conquer  every  foe. 

He  must  fight  still,  on  vale  and  hill, 

Unto  his  latest  breath, 
And  strike  for  home  across  the  foam. 

For  victory  or  death. 


85 


That  right  we  claim,  for  wealth  or  fame, 

We  must  accord  to  others  ; 
And  if  we  're  true,  we  then  must  do 

Square  justice  to  our  "  brothers." 

Away  with  greed,  and  any  creed 

Without  a  hope  or  plan ; 
On  wave  or  crag  the  only  flag 

Is  one  that  floats  for  man. 

Tear  down  the  flag,  the  royal  rag 

That  only  waves  for  self ; 
A  dastard  sign,  a  poison  vine, 

Of  wrong  and  power  and  pelf. 


ERIN. 

[Dedicated  to  Robert  Emmet.] 

Oh  Erin,  sweet  Erin,  dear  land  of  my  fathers, 
The  tyrant  has  long  held  his  heel  on  thy  breast ; 

But  the  day  of  thy  bondage  is  fast  disappearing, 
For  a  vision  of  hope  comes  out  of  the  west, 
Where  Liberty's  children  forever  are  blest. 

Proud  Kings  from  their  scepters  and  thrones  soon  must 

sever, 
And  the  millions  of  earth  shall  their  own  rulers  be ; 

The  people  shall  reign  through  their  honest  endeavor  — 
Amid  peace  and  plenty,  from  sea  unto  sea, 
Who  live  in  a  land  where  the  poorest  are  free. 


All  lands  must  with  Freedom  to  glory  awaken 
Whose  songs  shall  re-echo  from  shore  unto  shore, 

And  red-handed  tyrants  from  thrones  shall  be  shaken 
Who  lord  o'er  the  poor  and  oppressed  never  more, 
While  the  eagles  of  Liberty  sail,  scream  and  soar. 

The  Sunburst  shall  shine  o'er  the  Lifiy  and  Shannon, 
And  the  harp  of  old  Tara  once  more  thrill  with  joy, 

When   the    bayonets   and    muskets,   and    loud-roaring 

cannon 

Shall  call  up  remembrance  of  famed  Fontenoy, 
And  the  treason  and  tyrants  we  fought  to  destroy. 

I  long  for  the  highlands  of  rough  Connamarra, 
Where  the  hawk  and  the  eagle  rise  high  on  the  wing  ; 

The  fox  and  the  roe  buck  still  roam  'mid  the  heather  — 
Where  Liberty  lingers,  sweet  anthems  to  sing, 
And  Freedom  awakens  the  bard's  tuneful  string. 

And  there,  near  the  source  of  some  bright  rolling  river, 
Where  the  trout  and  the  salmon  disport  in  the  spray, 

Let  my  soul  return  to  its  master  and  giver ; 
Beloved  by  the  muses  would  I  pass  away, 
To  sing  through  the  ages  of  limitless  day. 

And  when  my  wild  numbers  are  drowned  in  death's  ocean, 
Some  bard,  sympathetic,  may  bend  o'er  my  grave 

And  sing  a  kind  tribute  of  love  and  devotion 
To  one  who  has  worshipped  the  true  and  the  brave, 
And  Erin  —  still  pensive  beside  her  green  wave. 

The  day  shall  soon  come  when  the  grave  of  our  hero 
Shall  be  marked  by  a  stone,  colossal  and  grand  ; 

When  Albion,  the  bluffer  and  modern  Nero, 
Shall  be  routed  afar  from  our  dear  native  land, 
And  Peace  reign  forever  o'er  mountain  and  strand. 

87 


SHERMAN. 

The  loud  alarm  of  war  is  past ; 

The  soldier  is  at  rest ; 
The  world  no  more  with  face  aghast 

Looks  to  the  bleeding  West; 
But  loyal  hearts  beat  o'er  the  land, 

And  glory  has  full  sway,  — 
In  this  Republic,  great  and  grand, 

Peace  reigns  supreme  to-day. 

Manassas,  with  its  bloody  crest, 

Shall  long  remain  to  tell 
How  soldiers  from  the  East  and  West 

Upon  the  Southland  fell ; 
And  where  the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  rent. 

By  shot  and  bursting  shell, 
As  if  the  powers  of  Pluto  lent 

A  hand  to  ring  its  knell. 

The  fruitful  field,  where  golden  grain 

Is  ripening  in  the  sun, 
Was  stricken  once  with  leaden  rain, 

And  victory,  nobly  won  ; 
And  there  immortal  laurels  bloom, 

Above  the  vernal  sod, 
Where  valor  sleeps  within  the  tomb  — 

Embosomed  with  its  God. 
No  more  for  those  heroic  dead 

The  fires  of  love  shall  bum ; 
Yet,  peaceful  from  their  lowly  bed, 

When  springtime  shall  return, 
The  violet's  empyrean  blue 

Shall  shine  with  magic  glow 
O'er  hearts  that  once  beat  brave  and  true  - 

Alike  for  friend  and  foe. 


The  dread  "  long  roll "  no  more  shall  call 

These  warriors,  fierce  and  bold, 
To  dash  in  front  and  proudly  fall, 

As  Spartans  did  of  old  ; 
But  o'er  their  graves  the  Nation  keeps 

Its  vigils  night  and  day, 
And  Honor  weeps  where  Valor  sleeps, 

Bedecked  with  flowers  of  May. 

The  brilliant  hero  that  we  see 

To-day  in  metal  form 
Shall  live  in  loyal  memory 

And  be  a  lasting  charm, 
And  ages  yet,  great  Sherman's  name 

Shall  be  a  battle  cry 
Of  those  who  guard  our  land  from  shame 

And  every  foe  defy. 

And  long  his  deeds  shall  shine  afar, 

O'er  mountain,  vale,  and  sea, 
As  brilliant  as  the  morning  star 

That  all  the  world  can  see ; 
And  phantom  soldiers  marching  on 

Shall  still  remain  in  view, 
To  keep  his  memory,  when  we  're  gone, 

As  pure  as  morning  dew. 

I  hear  again  old  Shiloh's  roar 

Upon  that  April  day, 
When  battling  by  the  river  shore 

The  dead  and  wounded  lay ; 
And  all  night  long  the  gunboat's  shell 

Went  shrieking  through  the  air, 
As  if  the  fires  of  earth  and  hell 

Had  concentrated  there. 


And  there,  too,  at  the  "  Hornet's  Nest," 

The  brunt  of  battle  broke 
Against  the  fighting,  bleeding  west,    . 

Beneath  the  aisles  of  oak, 
When  grand,  brave  Sherman  met  the  flood 

Of  Johnston's  dashing  men, 
Who  reveled  deep  in  human  blood, 

Like  lions  in  a  den. 

Atlanta  and  its  bloody  field 

Shall  long  remembered  be, 
Where  gallant  men  were  forced  to  yield  — 

Retreat  down  to  the  sea ; 
When  Sherman  and  his  "  Bummer  Boys  " 

Marched  proudly,  brave  and  free, 
To  capture  with  a  nation's  noise 

The  flag  of  Hood  and  Lee. 

Fond  memory,  once  again  alive, 

Beholds  the  "  Grand  Review  "— 
A  loyal  host  in  "  Sixty-Five  " 

March  up  the  Avenue, 
Where  shouts  of  victory  rent  the  air 

From  house-top,  steeple,  dome, 
To  see  "  Old  Glory  "  still  wave  there  — 

For  Union,  love  and  home. 

A  thousand  years  of  glory 

Shall  honor  Sherman's  name, 
With  a  tale  in  song  and  story 

To  keep  green  his  growing  fame ; 
And  down  the  circling  ages, 

From  the  father  to  the  son, 
We  '11  teach  on  golden  pages 

How  the  fields  were  lost  and  won  ; 


90 


And  how  a  nation  battled, 

Fought  each  other  hard  and  true, 
Where  cannons  loudly  rattled, 

To  establish  great  and  new 
A  temple  and  a  tower 

So  complete  in  every  plan  — 
To  justice,  truth  and  power, 

And  the  liberty  of  man  ! 


HURRAH  FOR  CUBA! 

Hurrah  for  free  Cuba,  the  land  of  the  sun, 
The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  true  ; 

She  '11  fight  to  the  death  till  her  liberty  'a  won 
With  colors  of  red,  white  and  blue  ! 
With  colors  of  red,  white  and  blue  ! 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  for  Cuba  so  true  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  star  with  red,  white  and  blue  ! 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  for  Cuba  so  true  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  star  with  red,  white  and  blue  ! 

Her  lone  star  shall  shine  o'er  that  beautiful  isle 
Like  a  gem  from  the  heavens  above, 

And  wave  o'er  the  Spaniards,  so  cruel  and  vile, 
Her  emblem  of  light  and  of  love  ! 
Her  emblem  of  light  and  of  love  ! 

Then  sing  to  the  nations  for  Cuba  and  right, 
For  honor,  for  home  and  for  peace  ; 

Down  with  the  Spaniard,  the  dastard  old  knight, 
Whose  reign  must  forever  here  cease  ! 
Whose  reign  must  forever  here  cease  ! 


91 


FLORA    LEE. 

A   KENTUCKY   MEMORY. 
[Dedicated  to  Col.  Will  L.  Viascher,  January  i,  1900.] 

My  eyes  surcharged  with  memory's  tears 
Look  back  through  fifty  vanished  yearn 
And  see  again  the  watermill 
That  clattered  'neath  the  rocky  hill 
Where,  as  a  boy,  I  laughed  in  glee, 
While  chasing  butterfly  or  bee, 
When  sporting  with  sweet  Flora  Lee. 
The  mill  has  fallen  to  decay  ; 
The  wheel  has  long  since  passed  away  : 
And  none,  dear  Will,  but  you  and  I, 
Are  left  to  heave  a  passing  sigh. 
The  orchard  on  the  hill  is  lost, 
Its  limbs  and  stumps  are  tempest  tossed, 
And  apple  blooms,  so  sweet  and  white, 
Like  thistle  down,  have  taken  flight. 
The  barn  rafters,  one  by  one, 
Have  tumbled  down,  decayed  and  gone, 
And  that  dear  home,  where  I  had  birth, 
Has  only  left  a  chimney  hearth, 
Where  birds  and  squirrels  flit  at  play, 
As  we  did  once  when  young  and  gay. 
The  graveyard  on  the  hill  is  seen, 
Between  the  glinting  gray  and  green 
Of  autumn  woods  that  sway  and  moan 
Like  some  old  anchorite  alone, 
Whose  earthly  pilgrimage  is  past, 
And  falls  beneath  the  withering  blast. 
The  broken  tombstones  toppling  there, 
Like  drunken  topers  at  a  fair, 


While  chasing  butterfly  or  bee" 


No  more  display  the  moss-grown  name 
Of  those  who  toiled  for  wealth  or  fame, — 
For  father,  mother,  daughter,  son, 
Were  naught  but  dust  when  life  was  done. 
The  old  log  school  house  rots  away 
Around  where  once  the  bright  and  gay, 
With  laughter,  love,  and  childish  play 
Were  happy  all  the  live-long  day. 
The  master  with  his  birchen  rod 
Has  long  since  slept  beneath  the  sod, 
Where  verbs  and  nouns  at  last  agree, 
And  all  may  solve  "  the  rule  of  three." 
The  sparkling  spring,  where  once  we  drank, 
Is  choked  with  weeds  so  thick  and  rank 
We  scarce  can  see  where  bubbles  sank 
Beneath  the  sedgy,  crumbling  bank. 
And  where  are  all  the  girls  and  boys 
That  once  enhanced  our  school-day  joys  ; 
Where  's  Georgie  Gill  and  Tony  Lane, 
And  Kissie  Wright  and  Bessie  Elaine  ; 
Where  's  Howard  Barnes  and  Luther  Wine, 
And  Laura  Lindsay  —  superfine  ; 
And  Emma  Gatewood,  trim  and  tall, 
And  Mary  Chiles  and  Lucy  Hall ; 
Dear  Fannie  Raglan,  kind  and  good  — 
Fine  specimen  of  womanhood  ; 
And,  more  than  all,  on  land  or  sea, 
What  has  become  of  Flora  Lee  ? 
Long  years  have  passed,  with  hope  and  care, 
Since  I  beheld  her  golden  hair, 
That  floated  on  the  summer  air 
Like  streams  of  sunshine,  rich  and  rare. 
Her  gracious  smile  and  rippling  curls 
Exceeded  all  the  other  girls, 


And  when  her  laughing  voice  was  heard 

T  was  sweeter  than  the  song  of  bird, 

Entrancing  as  a  mystic  beam, 

Or  like  the  echo  of  a  dream. 

I  wonder  if  her  lot  was  cast 

To  bear  the  burden  and  the  blast 

Of  those  who  suffer  night  and  day, 

Amid  life's  frantic,  fearful  fray, — 

Like  you  and  I,  who  only  know 

The  sorrows  of  a  secret  woe  ; 

Who  bleed  for  others  while  they  play, 

With  wrinkled  brows  and  heads  of  gray ; 

Who  choke  down  every  rising  swell 

That  makes  the  heart  a  living  hell. 

I  've  spent  a  checkered,  wandering  life, 

Have  known  the  love  of  child  and  wife, 

And  warred  in  many  a  human  strife, 

Both  foot  to  foot,  and  knife  to  knife. 

Or  has  her  lot  been  one  of  flowers, 

Made  up  of  love  and  happy  hours, 

Ensconced  within  sweet  home-like  bowers 

And  sheltered  from  life's  pelting  showers  ? 

I  trust  where'er  she  be  to-day 

That  loving  children  round  her  play  ; 

And  if  her  hair  be  gold  or  gray, 

I  know  her  heart  is  light  as  spray ; 

And  laughing  voices  like  her  own 

Are  ringing  like  a  tender  tone, 

And  though  long,  weary  years  have  flown, 

A  soul  like  hers  can't  be  alone. 

For  over  land  and  stormy  sea 

I  never  found  such  glorious  glee 

As  that  which  bubbled  fond  and  free 

Within  the  heart  of  Flora  Lee ! 


06 


THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY. 

United  we  shall  ever  stand, 

Columbia,  to  eternal  day, 
A  noble  nation,  true  and  grand  ; 

The  warp  is  Blue,  the  woof  is  Gray. 

At  Gettysburg,  and  Shiloh,  too, 
We  fought  like  lions  brought  to  bay  — 

The  world  admired  the  Union  Blue ; 
The  world  admired  the  Rebel  Gray. 

And  San  Juan  Hill  shall  ever  be 
A  lasting  memory  to  the  brave, 

Where  Blue  and  Gray,  for  Liberty, 
Were  buried  in  one  common  grave. 

And  as  the  rolling  years  go  by, 

On  every  Decoration  Day, 
With  love  and  tears  and  heartfelt  sigh, 

We  '11  honor  both  the  Blue  and  Gray. 

And  conquered  Spain  now  knows  full  well 
That  Uncle  Sam  shall  hold  his  sway 

Against  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell, 
While  lasts  the  Loyal  Blue  and  Gray. 


PEACE  JUBILEE. 

Peace,  with  her  bright  white  wings,  spreads  on  the  air 
When  pomp  of  war,  with  all  its  roar  and  blare, 
Has  vanished  from  the  field  of  blood-red  Mars 
Like  murky  clouds  before  the  shining  stars. 
An  angel  thou,  forever  hold  thy  reign, 
And  save  us  from  the  shot  of  battle  pain, 

97 


Where  brothers  bleed,  and  brothers  bravely  die, 

Beneath  an  arctic  or  a  tropic  sky. 

Long  may  the  Dove  of  Peace  hold  branch  and  vine 

O'er  lands  of  sun  and  palm,  and  snow  and  pine, 

While  loved  Columbia,  from  her  western  home, 

Grants  freedom  to  all  men,  on  land  and  foam. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  an  emblem  still  must  be 

Of  liberty  and  law,  from  eea  to  sea ; 

And  where  it  waves  in  any  land  or  clime, 

It  must  remain  and  triumph  over  time. 

The  savage  shall  be  tamed  and  sent  to  school, 

We  '11  teach  him  that  he  must  submit  to  rule, 

And  be  a  man  dependent  on  himself, 

And  not  rely  on  priest  or  power  or  pelf. 

Free  Cuba  and  the  Philippines  are  ours ; 

And  Destiny,  exceeding  earthly  powers, 

Commands  us  to  go  forward  in  the  van 

And  lead  the  world  for  brotherhood  of  man  — 

Insisting  that  all  nations  shall  be  free, 

Where  equal  rights,  and  law  and  liberty, 

And  one  grand,  universal  Jubilee 

Of  Peace  shall  last  unto  eternity. 

¥¥ 

"  LION." 

TH«  DOG'S  SOLILOQUY. 

Behold  in  me  the  image  true 

Of  faith  unto  the  end ; 
I  know  and  feel  you  never  knew 

A  better,  braver  friend. 
I  could  not  swear,  or  cheat,  or  lie, 

Because  I  'm  not  built  that  way  ; 
I  'd  rather  be  a  dog  and  die 

Than  be  but  to  betray. 


THE  STORM. 

The  flash  of  the  lightning  and  roar  of  the  thunder 
Inspire  all  great  souls  with  the  glory  of  God  ; 

And  thrill  the  proud  heart  with  a  dread,  nameless  wonder 
To  witness  the  stroke  of  His  glittering  rod. 

The  storm  king  rages  like  lions  in  battle; 

The  wild  winds  are  grumbling  like  fiends  in  distress  ; 
And  heaven's  artillery  rumble  and  rattle, 

While  Nature  herself  seems  to  wail  and  confess. 

Grand  billows  roll  high  on  the  broad,  heaving  ocean, 
And  wild  birds  are  frantic  with  fear  and  despair ; 

While  the  moon  and  the  stars  seem  to  flash  with  emotion, 
And  Death  rides  triumphant  with  sorrow  and  care. 

But  soon  the  sweet  sunshine  will  beam  o'er  the  waters, 
When  Nature  again  shall  resume  her  domain, 

And  nestle  once  more  with  earth's  sons  and  daughters  — 
O'er  mountains  and  hilltops,  seas,  valley,  and  plain. 


THE  FIRE  BELLS. 

[Dedicated  to  the  Firemen's  Benefit,  Lafayette  Opera  House, 
June  8, 1896.] 

Hark !  the  fire  bells  break  the  hush  of  night, 
Filling  the  air  with  a  dread  affright; 
The  engines  rattle  along  the  street, 
Behind  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet ; 
And  the  people  run  and  race  and  yell  — 
Rushing  along  in  a  wild  pell  mell ; 
The  sky  is  painted  with  lurid  dyes 
And  volumes  of  smoke  and  sparks  arise. 


'T  is  there!  through  the  red  hot,  crumbling  wall 

The  fireman  is  seen  to  battle  and  fall  — 

To  fall  like  a  warrior  Munch  and  brave, 

And  sink  in  a  seething,  fiery  grave ; 

Doing  his  duty  tireless  and  true; 

Dying  alone  for  his  home  and  you! 

Pity  !  Oh,  pity  !  his  orphan  child 

And  his  widow  stricken  with  grief  so  wild, 

Who  're  left  alone  in  this  world  of  care 

In  their  funeral  garb  so  plain  and  bare ; 

And  out  of  your  store  of  idle  gold 

Let  Charity  help  with  its  means  untold, 

And  over  the  firemen's  memory  raise 

A  shaft  for  the  eyes  of  future  days, 

To  tell  to  the  world  that  duty  done 

Is  the  grandest  glory  beneath  the  sun ! 


ZEUS. 

He  holds  the  lightnings  in  his  hands  ; 
His  thunderous  voice  rules  seas  and  lands 
The  mountains  tremble  where  He  stands, 
And  all  obey  when  He  commands. 

He  floods  the  earth  with  heat  and  light ; 
He  chills  it  with  cold  winter  blight ; 
And  reigns  forever,  day  and  night, 
The  Ruler  of  the  wrong  and  right. 

And  what  are  we  but  midget  men 
Encaged  within  a  dreary  den, 
Like  sheep  within  a  pasture  pen, 
Or  thistle  down  on  field  and  fen. 

100 


THE  NIGHT. 

[Dedicated  to  Dr.  Charles  Earl.] 

The  day  may  do  for  this  world  of  care, 
For  those  who  battle,  conquer  and  dare ; 
But  I  love  the  night  with  its  shining  stars, 
The  meteor  sparks  that  fly  round  mars  ; 
The  northern  lights  with  their  rosy  dyes, 
That  flame  and  flash  in  the  midnight  skies  ; 
The  milky  way  with  its  belt  of  light, 
Spanning  the  heavens  so  pure  and  bright ; 
While  the  moon  in  her  full  majestic  sway 
Silvers  the  mountains  so  old  and  gray, 
As  she  rules  the  tides  of  the  ocean  wild  — 
A  mother  that  masters  a  petulant  child. 
Oh  !  could  I  but  sail  like  yon  lone  cloud, 
Away  from  the  earth  and  its  storms  so  loud, 
I  'd  gladly  glide  through  that  upper  blue 
Where  the  angels  are  singing  so  sweet  and  true, 
Where  the  soul  shall  forever  its  life  renew ! 


NIGHT  AND  DAY. 

The  long  and  weary  night  is  past, 
And  Phoebus,  clad  in  orient  beams. 

Rides  o'er  the  lofty  mountain  tops 
To  light  again  the  running  streams. 

The  birds  make  vocal  every  bough, 
Awaking  notes  of  love  and  praise 

To  One  who  rules  the  universe, 
And  taught  them  how  to  tune  their  lays. 

101 


The  dew  still  shines  like  diamond  dust 
On  every  blade  and  spray  and  flower, 

The  trembling  tears  of  Nature's  God, 
The  jewels  of  mysterious  power. 

What  though  the  moon  and  stars  of  night 
Be  emblems  of  a  King  Unknown, 

I  still  revere  the  garish  day 
Flashed  from  a  great  eternal  throne. 


LYNCHING. 

Did  you  ever  feel  like  lynching 

The  many  or  the  few, 
Or  stop  to  think  a  moment 

That  it  might  come  home  to  you  ? 

Did  you  ever  think  of  mobbing 

Your  fellow,  false  or  true, 
And  then,  just  once,  imagine 

That  it  might  come  home  to  you  ? 

It  's  easy  to  accuse  a  man, 
Whether  white  or  black  or  blue, 

But  don't  you  know,  my  Christian  friend, 
It  might  come  home  to  you? 

Christ  himself  was  crucified 

By  a  rabble  murder  crew  ; 
You  might  endure  the  fate  he  felt, 

As  a  Gentile  or  a  Jew. 

And  if  the  law  can't  take  its  course 

And  find  out  what  is  true, 
A  lynching  mob  is  apt  to  bring 

A  rope  or  torch  to  you  ! 

102 


THE  RAIN. 

The  rain,  the  rain,  the  beautiful  rain, 
Descends  on  the  grass  and  the  golden  grain, 
Refreshing  the  leaves  and  the  fading  flowers, 
Singing  a  song  to  the  fleeting  hours. 

The  murmuring  rain,  the  gentle  shower 
Drips  through  the  trees  in  the  woodland  bower, 
Falls  on  the  roof  and  sinks  to  the  sea, 
Where  it  waters  the  shores  of  memory. 

Well  I  remember  the  days  of  old, 
The  cottage  porch,  and  the  love  she  told, 
The  rain  that  danced  on  the  trailing  vine, 
And  the  beautiful  hand  that  lay  in  mine. 

The  snow  and  the  rain  of  long,  long  years 
Have  chilled  my  heart  with  the  hopes  and  fears 
That  filled  my  soul  in  the  long  ago, 
Before  I  had  learned  the  weight  of  woe. 

Her  little  mound  in  the  churchyard  near 
I  deck  with  a  flower,  spray,  and  tear, 
Mingle  my  sighs  with  the  sounding  rain, 
And  wish  for  that  soft  white  hand  again. 

A  few  more  days  of  pleasure  and  pain 
And  I  shall  sleep  'neath  the  falling  rain, 
And  all  the  living  above  the  sod 
Must  leave  their  trials  and  go  to  God. 

It  matters  little  to  you  or  to  me 
Whether  we  die  on  the  land  or  the  sea ; 
The  sun  will  shine  and  the  rain  will  fall 
And  a  generous  grave  will  hide  us  all. 


103 


OBITUARY  PATHOS. 

OCR  MAHY. 
Our  darling  Mary  's  gone  above  — 

I  'm  sorry  that  she  went ; 
But  angels  don't  wear  any  clothes, 

And  shoes  don't  cost  a  cent. 

BY   HER   MA. 

OUR  JOHNNY. 
Our  little  Johnny  'a  under  ground  ; 

He  neither  cries  nor  "  hollers  " : 
He  lived  just  forty  days 

And  cost  us  eighty  dollars. 
No  more  shall  paregoric  fret 

His  stomach  day  or  night ; 
I  'm  kind  of  glad,  you  bet, 

That  Johnny  'a  out  of  sight. 

BY   HI8    PA. 

OUR  DAISY. 

Beneath  this  slab,  devoid  of  strife, 
Lies  Daisy,  my  impulsive  wife ; 
Her  tongue  is  stilled  by  cruel  death  — 
Is  silent  now  for  want  of  breath. 
On  earth  her  like  is  seldom  seen  — 
She  knew  it  all,  was  awful  keen  ; 
And  when  her  soul  with  passion  stirred 
She  would  n't  let  me  say  a  word, 
But  talked  by  night  and  talked  by  day, 
For  Daisy  always  had  her  way. 
If  I  by  chance  again  could  find 
A  Daisy  of  such  manlike  mind, 
You  bet  your  boots  and  honest  life 
She  'd  not  become  my  second  wife ! 

BY   HER    FAITHFUL   HUSBAND. 
104 


OUR  JIM. 

Beneath  this  cold,  gray,  sandy  stone 

Jim  Jackson  lowly  lies  — 
That 's  all  he  ever  did  in  life  ; 

"  Dear  Papa  "  was  a  prize  ! 
And  when  he  staid  away  all  night 

He  tried  the  truth  to  dodge, 
And  told  us,  with  a  bland,  sweet  smile, 

That  he  'd  been  at  "  the  Lodge  "  ; 
But  when  he  snored  in  mystic  tone 

We  through  his  pockets  went, 
And  for  the  silent  steps  we  took 

We  did  n't  get  a  cent ! 
But  in  his  inside  pocket  found, 

In  figures  plain  and  true, 
Tom  Miller's  handsome  bogus  check 

And  Johnson's  I  O  U ! 
So,  stranger,  drop  a  tear  right  here, 

For  you  might  have  been  him  ; 
"  Our  Darling  "  loved  Old  Rye  and  Beer, 

And  that 's  what  killed  "  Our  Jim  " ! 

BY    HIS   LOVING   WIFE. 


I'M  LONESOME. 

I  'm  "  lonesome  "  since  I  have  quit  drinking, 
And  "  boozing,"  and  smoking,  and  such  ; 

But  somehow  I  've  got  down  to  thinking 
That  "  a  little  "  was  often  too  much  ! 

And  though  I  may  soon  be  "  an  angel," 
And  join  all  the  "good  "  and  the  "  blessed," 

105 


I  shall  not  forget  the  "  Fine  Fellows  " 
Who  drank  when  I  set  up  "  The  Best "  ! 

So,  "  Boys,"  you  must  sigh  and  forget  me, 
And  sometimes  recall  o'er  your  beers 

That  I  '11  never  rebuke  or  revile  you  — 
Your  "  Old  Chum  "  who  has  drank  forty  years  ! 

Yet  if  in  the  future  I  'm  weary, 
And  need  for  my  health  gin  or  rum, 

I  may  join  the  boys  who  are  "  bleary," 
And  again  be  an  "  Ass  "  and  "  Bum  "  ! 


PORK  IN  POWER. 
[Dedicated  to  You  Know  Who.] 

Yesterday  I  was  a  seeker 
For  office  and  glory  and  cash  ; 

To-day  I  'm  a  "  Holder,"  and  settled, 
And  dine  upon  fresh  Turkey  Hash  ! 

Yesterday  he  climbed  the  ladder, 
The  people  put  up  for  his  cheer ; 

To-day  he  's  a  big  bloated  bladder 
And  drawing  Five  Thousand  a  year ! 

To-morrow,  then,  he  is  forgotten, 

And  away  to  the  "  Wild,  Woolly  WTest,' 

To  look  like  an  outcast  that 's  rotten, 
Or  a  "  cuckoo  "  without  any  nest ! 

106 


WAITING. 

How  she  waited  at  the  window, 

When  my  bank  account  ran  high, 
And  met  me  in  the  midnight  hour 

With  a  kind  and  loving  sigh  ; 
And  threw  her  arms  around  me 

With  a  sensuous,  earnest  fold, 
And  promised  that  she  'd  never 

Give  me  up  for  fame  or  gold. 

But  you  ought  to  see  her  after, 

When  my  cash  account  ran  low, 
And  she  thought  that  I  was  bankrupt, 

Buried  deep  in  winter  snow  : 
Like  a  coward  and  an  ingrate, 

The  sneaking,  sordid  thing 
Threw  her  arms  around  another 

As  she  left  me  on  the  wing. 

But  why  should  any  noble  man 

Believe  that  gold  can  buy 
The  heart  of  any  woman, 

Or  truth  that  can  not  die: 
No  ;  the  wealth  that  buys  a  woman 

In  this,  and  climes  above, 
Is  simple  faith  and  modest  worth, 

And  honest  human  love. 


WHEN. 

When  your  cash  is  non  est  it  is  time  that  you  test 
The  friends  that  once  fed  at  your  table  ; 

Then  you  '11  very  soon  find  you  are  lost  to  their  minds, 
That  they  've  slipped  from  your  moorings  their  cable. 

107 


When  the  sunshine  of  life  shall  banish  all  strife. 

And  you  bloom  like  a  rose  in  the  dawning, 
You  '11  be  flattered  and  wined,  be  toasted  and  dined, 

By  Scrubs  who  live  only  by  fawning. 

When  Dame  Fortune  departs  you '11  find  only  false  hearts. 

And  cowards  who  talk  of  your  "dreaming"; 
Little  sneaks  of  low  birth  crawling  over  the  earth, 

Whose  friendship  was  only  a  seeming. 

Never  mind  what  they  say,  like  the  ass  they  must  bray, 

Or  hiss  like  a  snake  or  a  gander; 
They  are  made  but  to  lie,  crawl,  grovel  and  die  — 

Poor  paupers  that  pelfer  and  pander  ! 

Keep  your  heart  and  your  pluck  and  you  '11  always  have 
luck, 

Let  your  soul  soar  away  to  the  sun  ; 
Let  the  ingrates  pass  by,  they  can  never  know  why 

That  you  're  built  like  a  Thirteen-Inch  Gun  ! 


A  DOLLAR  OR  TWO. 

[Dedicated  to  the  Washington  Elks.] 

With  circumspect  steps  as  we  pick  our  way  through 

This  intricate  world,  as  all  other  folks  do, 

May  we  still  on  our  journey  be  able  to  view 

The  benevolent  face  of  a  dollar  or  two. 

For  an  excellent  thing  is  a  dollar  or  two  ; 

No  friend  is  so  true  as  a  dollar  or  two  ; 

In  country  or  town,  as  we  pass  up  and  down, 

We  are  cock  of  the  walk  with  a  dollar  or  two. 


108 


Do  you  wish  to  escape  from  the  bachelor  crew, 
And  a  charming  young  innocent  female  to  woo, 
You  must  always  be  ready  the  handsome  to  do, 
Although  it  may  cost  you  a  dollar  or  two. 
For  love  tips  his  darts  with  a  dollar  or  two ; 
Young  affections  are  gained  with  a  dollar  or  two ; 
And,  beyond  all  dispute,  the  best  card  of  your  suit 
Is  the  eloquent  chink  of  a  dollar  or  two. 

Do  you  wish  to  have  friends  who  your  bidding  will  do, 
And  help  you  your  means  to  get  speedily  through, 
You  '11  find  them  remarkably,  faithfully  true 
By  the  magical  powers  of  a  dollar  or  two. 
For  friendship  's  secured  by  a  dollar  or  two ; 
Popularity  's  gained  by  a  dollar  or  two ; 
And  you  '11  ne'er  want  a  friend  'till  you  've  no  more  to  lend, 
And  yourself  need  to  borrow  a  dollar  or  two. 

Do  you  wish  in  the  courts  of  the  country  to  sue 

For  the  rights  or  estate  that 's  another  man's  due, 

Your  lawyer  will  surely  remember  his  cue 

When  his  palm  you  have  crossed  with  a  dollar  or  two. 

For  a  lawyer  's  convinced  with  a  dollar  or  two; 

And  a  jury  set  right  with  a  dollar  or  two  ; 

And  though  justice  is  blind,  yet  a  way  you  may  find 

To  open  her  eyes  with  a  dollar  or  two. 

If  a  claim  that  is  proved  to  be  honestly  due, 
Department  or  Congress  you  'd  quickly  put  through  — 
And  the  chance  of  its  payment  begins  to  look  blue  — 
You  can  help  it  along  with  a  dollar  or  two. 
For  votes  are  secured  by  a  dollar  or  two ; 
And  influence  bought  by  a  dollar  or  two ; 
And  he  '11  come  to  grief  who  depends  for  relief 
Upon  justice  not  braced  with  a  dollar  or  two, 

109 


Do  you  wish  that  the  press  should  the  decent  thing  do, 
And  give  your  reception  a  gushing  review, 
Describing  the  dresses  by  stuff,  style  and  hue, 
On  the  quiet,  hand  Jenkins  a  dollar  or  two. 
For  the  pen  sells  its  praise  for  a  dollar  or  two, 
And  spreads  its  abuse  for  a  dollar  or  two  ; 
Yet  you  '11  find  it  is  easy  to  manage  the  crew 
When  you  put  up  the  shape  of  a  dollar  or  two. 

Do  you  wish  your  existence  with  faith  to  imbue, 

And  so  become  one  of  the  sanctified  few 

Who  enjoy  a  good  name  and  a  well-cushioned  pew, 

You  must  freely  come  down  with  a  dollar  or  two. 

For  the  gospel  is  preached  for  a  dollar  or  two ; 

Salvation  is  reached  for  a  dollar  or  two  ; 

Sins  are  pardoned  sometimes,  but  the  worst  of  all  crimes 

Is  to  find  yourself  short  of  a  dollar  or  two. 

Do  you  wish  to  get  into  a  game  with  a  crew 

Who  sport  on  the  "  green  "  with  the  "  red,"  "  white,"  and 

"  blue," 

Or  a  smart  game  of  "  draw,"  where  your  chances  are  few, 
You  must  back  up  your  talk  with  a  dollar  or  two. 
For  the  "  dealer  "  is  fly  with  a  dollar  or  two  ; 
And  the  "  banker  "  is  flush  with  a  dollar  or  two  ; 
And  whate'er  you  say,  they  won't  let  you  play, 
Unless  you  come  down  with  a  dollar  or  two. 

Should  you  hanker  for  Wall  Street,  as  Gentile  or  Jew, 
Where  the  "  bulls  "  and  the  "  bears  "  wait  for  "  gudgeons  " 

like  you, 

Your  pile  they  will  measure  and  take  into  view, 
And  scoop,  with  a  smile,  your  last  dollar  or  two. 
For  the  "  bull  "  is  rampant  for  a  dollar  or  two, 
And  the  "  bear"  ever  growls  for  a  dollar  or  two ; 

110 


Yet  I  '11  say  on  my  oath  that  the  broker  rules  both, 
And  seldom  gets  left  on  his  dollar  or  two. 

Do  you  want  a  snug  place  where  there  's  little  to  do, 
Civil  service  evade  and  its  rules  to  break  through, 
A  land  bill  to  pass  or  a  patent  renew, 
You  can  fix  the  thing  up  for  a  dollar  or  two. 
For  Commissioners  see  through  a  dollar  or  two  ; 
Even  Congressmen  wink  at  a  dollar  or  two  ; 
And  you  need  not  be  slow  to  convince  friend  or  foe 
Of  the  virtue  contained  in  a  dollar  or  two  ! 


LORD  BYRON. 

[Dedicated  to  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  the  Hoosier  Poet.] 

Immortal  bard  !  thy  glorious,  royal  thought 

Sprung  from  thy  brain  Minerva-like  and  caught 

The  echoes  of  the  fleeting,  rolling  years 

That  thrill  the  music  of  the  sounding  spheres  ; 

Proud,  independent,  and  still  a  stoic, 

Always  grand,  peculiar,  and  heroic  — 

Who  looked  upon  the  hypocrites  of  earth 

As  crawling  worms,  unworthy  of  a  birth, 

Who  only  left  their  slime  upon  their  day, 

Were  unremembered  when  they  passed  away  — 

Small  creatures  who  are  fitted  for  poor  pelf 

Who  live  and  die  in  concentrated  self! 

But  thou,  an  eagle  from  some  Alpine  peak 

Bathing  its  plumnge  in  the  cloud-capped  foam, 

Wandering  o'er  this  world  to  vainly  seek 

For  truth  and  love,  for  honest  heart  and  home. 

Beneath  Italian  skies  you  sought  for  peace, 

And  steered  your  bounding  bark  round  isles  of  Greece, 


111 


Along  the  shores  of  Oriental  lands, 
Where  billows  break  upon  their  golden  panda. 
And  o'er  the  desert  wild  you  loved  to  roam, 
But  never  found  on  earth  a  rest  or  home. 
Giaour,  the  Venetian,  made  Hassan  bleed 
And  cleft  his  head  upon  the  prancing  steed, 
All  for  the  love  he  bore  sweet  Lelia  dead  — 
Where  ocean  billows  broke  above  her  head. 
T  is  sweet  to  be  revenged  on  dastard  man 
And  kill  a  hated  tj'rant  when  you  can, 
Who  knows  no  law  within,  below,  above  — 
Dark,  brutal  passion  only  felt  for  love  ! 
Now,  see  the  Giaour  in  his  death-bed  trance 
Clasp  lovely  Lelia  with  his  parting  glance. 
Confessed  his  crimes,  defiant  of  his  course, 
And  died  without  a  pang  or  feeling  of  remorse ; 
A  lone  and  broken  wreck  upon  the  shore, 
A  brave  and  royal  spirit  evermore. 
One  who  could  face  the  shades  of  death  so  well, 
Defying  all  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell. 
The  bride  of  Abydos  you  brightly  paint 
In  colors  that  Old  Time  can  never  taint ; 
Her  love  as  constant  as  the  polar  star 
That  shines  o'er  Arctic  night  so  fair  and  far  ; 
And  for  the  youthful  Selim  she  defied 
A  parent's  terror  and  the  world  beside  ; 
Who  pledged  her  happiness,  her  love  in  strife, 
A  shining  rainbow  in  the  storms  of  life  ; 
Who,  when  her  lover,  forced  to  die  and  part, 
Could  rend  her  soul,  one  sigh,  a  broken  heart ! 
Zaleika  — from  thy  Cyprus  mount  on  high 
Above  the  billow,  near  Hellenic  sky, 
The  bulbul  and  the  nightingale  doth  sing 
A  requiem  as  their  mighty  offering 


112 


To  one  who  loved  not  wisely,  but  too  well, 
Thou  paragon  of  beauty,  fare  thee  well. 
Within  the  cell  of  Tasso  we  may  find 
The  wreck  and  ruin  of  a  brilliant  mind, 
Who  loved  beyond  his  rank  and  wand'ring  state 
Leonora,  the  princess  and  ingrate, 
Who,  like  Alphonso,  the  mean  tyrant  duke, 
Could  calmly  look  on  wrong  and  not  rebuke. 
Yet  all  the  glories  of  the  house  of  Este 
Have  long  since  vanished  like  a  fearful  pest, 
While  Tasso  and  his  love-lit  lines  shall  shine 
Along  the  rolling  years,  supreme,  divine ! 
Byron,  'lone,  proud,  and  friendless  everywhere 
Except  when  sailing  with  thine  own  Corsair, 
Conrad,  the  pirate,  and  his  queenly  care. 
The  love-lit  homicide,  the  wild  Gulnare! 
Yet,  in  the  tower  with  sweet  Medora  dead 
You  lay  upon  her  breast  your  aching  head, 
And  from  those  wild  eyes  tears  of  truth  o'erflow 
The  sparkling  messenger  of  nameless  woe. 
But  quickly  all  these  signs  of  grief  depart, 
"  In  helpless,  hopeless,  brokenness  of  heart !  " 
Childe  Harold,  thou  licentious  Don  Juan, 
Yet  not  thyself  in  all  that  thou  dost  plan, 
"  To  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale  " 
For  secret  scoundrels,  hypocrites  so  frail ; 
Who  know  themselves  as  villains,  dastard  liars, 
Dreading  man's  detection,  perdition  fires  ; 
Who  only  prate  and  preach  and  never  feel 
The  glorious  impulse  of  a  grand  ideal! 
And  I  have  searched  the  quarry  of  thy  thought 
For  marbles  rare,  uncovered  and  unbought, 
And  delved  into  thy  mind,  so  sad  and  lone, 
To  find  in  depths  the  prisoner  of  Chillon, 


113 


Who  dungeoned,  for  sweet  liberty  and  truth, 
The  tyrant's  portion  —  for  heroic  youth  ; 
That  would  not  yield  till  all  his  kindred  slept 
Beneath  the  prison  stones  where  he  hath  wept, 
To  hear  his  brothers  in  their  clanking  chains 
Die  with  moaning,  groans,  and  patient  pains. 
Homer,  Shakespeare,  to  thee  alone  compare, 
Godlike,  triumvirate,  grand,  rich,  and  rare, 
Shall  shine  through  all  the  ages  and  all  time, 
The  life  of  virtue  and  the  death  of  crime ! 
And,  oh  !  sweet  bard,  where'er  Augusta  lies 
And  faithful  friendship  turns  to  thee  her  eyeo, 
There,  from  the  earth  the  tribute  of  our  tears 
Shall  melt  like  dewdrops  in  the  coming  years, 
And  o'er  your  hallowed  dust  we  '11  send  a  sigh 
For  one  immortal  soul  that  can  not  die  ! 


HOPE  ON. 

Don't  bother  'bout  sneaks  or  sorrow, 
They  come  like  the  stinging  briers ; 

Hope  on  for  a  brighter  morrow, 
And  keep  up  your  vestal  fires. 

The  storms  will  soon  be  over, 
When  the  gun  shall  intervene, 

And  the  bees  will  sip  the  clover 
While  the  daisies  bloom  between. 

For  God  is  good  in  His  glory, 
And  He  knows  what  is  always  best; 

It  is  simply  "  the  old,  old  story," 
That  through  sorrow  we  find  sweet  rest. 

114 


NAPOLEON. 

A  wreck  of  ambition,  deserted,  alone, 

He  rode  o'er  the  bones  of  mankind  to  a  throne ; 

Men,  women,  and  nations  were  playthings  to  him, 

A  great  goblet  of  blood  he  quaffed  to  the  brim. 

The  faithful  of  France  he  slaughtered  for  fame, 

While  kings  were  his  pawns  and  queens  were  his  game ; 

His  conquering  eagles  o'er  Alpine  snow 

Rushed  down  like  an  avalanche  freighted  with  woe; 

The  fierce  storms  of  old  Moscow,  fanning  its  fire, 

Compelled  the  invader  to  turn  and  retire, 

And  leave  untold  thousands  to  die  in  his  track 

For  vultures  to  feed  on  and  Cossacks  to  hack. 

The  star  of  his  destiny  sunk  out  of  view, 

Eclipsed  in  the  blood  of  his  last  Waterloo ; 

Then,  exiled  from  France,  his  hope  and  his  pride, 

Caged  like  a  lion,  he  fretted  and  died. 

A  marvelous  meteor  that  flashed  o'er  the  wave, 

To  darkle  at  last  in  the  gloom  of  the  grave. 

Far  better  the  lowest,  poor  peasant  of  France, 

Who  toils  in  his  vineyard  or  joins  in  the  dance, 

Than  all  of  his  glory  in  battle  array 

That  sooner  or  later  will  vanish  away. 

Peace,  virtue,  and  truth  are  the  jewels  of  joy  — 

The  hope  of  the  world,  without  base  alloy; 

The  gifts  of  our  Maker,  the  best  on  this  sod, 

The  glory  of  genius  and  tributes  of  God. 

Vain,  vain,  all  the  pomp  of  Napoleon's  high  pride ; 

Broken-hearted,  alone,  disappointed,  he  died, 

And  left  to  the  world  but  the  sound  of  his  name  — 

The  fool  of  ambition,  the  football  of  fame ! 


115 


FORWARD  ! 

[Dedicated  to  the  First  Regiment,  District  of  Columbia.] 

Death  to  the  Spaniard  on  land  or  on  sea ; 

The  reign  of  the  robber  is  o'er ; 
Columbia,  forever  faithful  and  free, 

Shall  drive  him  away  from  our  shore. 

The  eagle  shall  soar  o'er  the  vulture  of  Spain, 
For  the  blood  of  the  noble  and  brave 

Cries  loud  from  the  wreck  of  the  battleship  Maine 
As  it  mourns  with  the  wail  of  the  wave. 

Forward  !   Guide  Right !  Shoot  first  in  the  fight ; 

Be  our  banner  of  glory  unfurled  ; 
Then  Liberty  true,  with  the  Red,  White  and  Blue, 

Shall  enlighten  the  rest  of  the  world ! 


116 


Forward.'  Guide  Right !   Shoot  first  in  the  fight ." 


HANCOCK. 
To-day  we  proudly  dedicate 

A  monument  of  matchless  mold 
To  this  grand  hero  of  the  State, 

Whose  heart  was  pure  as  virgin  gold. 
The  victor's  crown  rests  on  his  head, 

No  more  his  serried  columns  jar ; 
He  views  the  heroes  whom  he  led 

On  many  a  bloody  field  of  war. 

Long  ages  yet  shall  look  upon 

This  glorious  warrior  brave  and  true, 
Who  drew  his  sword  in  "  Sixty-one," 

And  battled  for  the  Union  "  Blue." 
A  "  Blue"  that  never  yet  knew  fear 

Of  foreign  or  domestic  foe, 
And  with  its  stars  from  year  to  year 

Shall  shine  as  centuries  come  and  go. 

And  even  when  brass  and  bronze  shall  fade, 

And  granite  crumbles  to  the  dust, 
His  deeds  shall  shine  o'er  sea  and  glade, 

Unsullied  by  corroding  rust. 
And  while  the  Keystone  State  shall  live 

To  bind  the  arch  that  spans  this  land, 
Our  praise  and  love  we  '11  freely  give 

To  one  so  noble,  pure,  and  grand. 
Old  Fredericksburg,  the  Wilderness, 

Cold  Harbor  with  its  bloody  name, 
Shall  still  our  minds  and  hearts  impress 

To  glorify  his  well-earned  fame. 
And  Gettysburg,  with  all  its  woe, 

Shall  keep  his  deeds  as  fresh  and  bright 
Within  the  soul  of  friend  or  foe 

As  glittering  stars  in  arctic  night. 

119 


And  while  for  freedom  we  shall  sing, 

We  '11  not  forget  our  Hancock's  name 
Among  grand  men  — a  prince  and  king, 

A  towering  crag  of  earthly  fame; 
The  man  that  Spottsylvania's  field 

Shall  long  embalm  in  song  and  story, 
A  hero  who  would  never  yield  — 

A  blaze  of  war's  unfading  glory. 

At  Petersburg,  through  shot  and  shell, 

He  held  his  onward,  upward  way, 
Where  crater  fires  were  belching  hell 

And  Satan  ruled  the  fearful  day  ; 
With  charge  on  charge,  he  forced  the  foe 

To  fly  like  leaves  before  the  blast ; 
'T  was  all  he  knew,  or  cared  to  know  — 

The  Union  cause  must  win  at  last. 

Hancock,  the  type  of  manly  mold, 

Shall  teach  to  men  and  States  unborn 
That  liberty  is  our  stronghold 

From  darkest  night  to  brightest  morn ; 
That  this  republic,  now,  as  then, 

Can  stand  against  the  world  at  large  — 
With  leaders  and  with  loyal  men 

To  face  the  fiercest,  wildest  charge. 

No  slave  pollutes  this  glorious  land, 

No  tyrant  breathes  our  radiant  air, 
From  shore  to  fhore  we  still  withstand 

The  growling  lion  in  his  lair  ; 
And  to  the  soldier  we  shall  give 

The  victor's  wreath  and  laurel  crown  — 
Imperial  honors  while  we  live  — 

Immortal  glory  and  renown. 

120 


He  stooped  not  to  the  rabble  crowd, 

Nor  cringed  before  a  party  lash; 
He  did  his  duty  plain  and  proud, 

A  Sidney  in  his  charge  and  dash  ; 
A  mind  where  valor  reigned  alone, 

A  cavalier  of  God-like  form  ; 
A  bugle  blast  of  purest  tone, 

A  Bayard  in  the  roaring  storm. 

And  when  the  fires  of  war  had  ceased 

The  Constitution  was  his  guide ; 
To  all  mankind  he  spread  a  feast, 

Proclaiming  peace  both  far  and  wide  ; 
And  all  his  acts  from  day  to  day 

Were  honest,  broad,  and  kind  and  true, 
For  justice  for  the  conquered  "  Gray  " 

And  justice  for  the  "  Boys  in  Blue." 

No  monument,  however  great, 

Can  symbolize  his  word  and  deed; 
He  looks  the  soldier  of  the  State, 

Bestride  that  bronze,  heroic  steed ; 
And  Ellicott  may  well  be  proud 

To  gaze  upon  his  matchless  art, 
While  cheers  and  praises  from  the  crowd 

Find  echo  in  his  heaving  heart. 

While  lauding  Hancock  to  the  skies, 

And  standing  round  his  sculptured  form, 
Let 's  not  forget  to  recognize 

The  rank  and  file  who  braved  the  storm ; 
Who  bared  their  breasts  where  bullets  flew, 

Who  fell  in  valley,  glade,  and  glen ; 
Who  died  in  shot-torn  rags  of  blue  ; 

Who  starved  in  loathsome  prison  pen. 


121 


THE  SOUL. 

The  moment  of  birth  we  begin  to  die, 
And  weep  and  mourn,  and  struggle  and  sigh ; 
And  toddling  along  through  the  fleeting  years, 
We  sow  for  the  harvest  of  smiles  or  tears. 

It  matters  little,  whether  rich  or  poor, 
Each  heart  and  soul  must  its  troubles  endure ; 
And  whether  we  live  on  the  land  or  wave, 
We  sink  at  last  to  the  gloom  of  the  grave. 

Then  while  we  are  here  let  us  laugh  and  sing, 
Whether  pauper,  peasant,  hero,  or  king, 
And  be  kind  to  all  that  we  chance  to  meet 
In  the  lonely  dells  or  the  crowded  street. 

The  soul  shall  live  in  some  radiant  sphere, 
Unloosed  from  the  shackles  that  bind  it  here ; 
And  though  there  be  doubts  to  our  latest  breath 
Let  us  still  believe  that  "  there  is  no  death." 


THE  FARMER. 

I  'm  King  of  the  Soil,  and  the  point  of  my  plough 
Writes  the  record  of  peace  for  the  year 

On  the  parchment  of  earth ;  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow 
I  toil  with  a  jolly  good  cheer. 

When  spring  comes  around  I  'm  off  to  the  field 

At  the  rise  of  the  sun's  golden  ray, 
To  labor,  and  trust  that  the  harvest  will  yield 

What  I  plant  in  the  furrows  to-day. 

122 


The  roots  of  the  peasant  and  bread  of  the  Prince 
Are  products  that  come  from  my  toil ; 

They  'd  hunger  and  die,  and  forever  go  hence, 
Were  it  not  for  the  King  of  the  Soil. 

The  soldier  and  sailor  that  fights  for  his  cause 

Are  forever  dependent  on  me  ; 
Without  me  they  could  not  sustain  honest  laws 

Over  land,  over  river,  or  sea. 

Then  three  cheers  for  the  farmer,  King  of  the  Soil, 

The  hero  of  labor  and  love  ; 
If  his  rights  are  not  recognized  down  here  below, 

I  know  they  '11  be  honored  above ! 


A  CURE. 

There  's  a  cure  for  every  heartache ; 

There  's  a  joy  for  every  grief; 
There  's  a  gain  for  all  our  losses 

If  we  only  seek  relief. 

Do  not  sit  in  idle  moaning, 
But  march  onward  to  the  field, 

Where  honor  ever  conquers 
And  the  brave  can  never  yield. 

Be  the  first  to  meet  the  battle, 
Strike  while  others  halt  and  pine  ; 

Forward  with  the  muskets'  rattle  ; 
Be  the  oak  and  not  the  vine. 

123 


VAIN   LITTLE  MAN. 
f Dedicated  to  puffed  and  pampered  people.] 

I  saw  him  yesterday  in  lusty  health, 
Surrounded  by  the  glare  of  pomp  and  power, 

But  all  the  train  attracted  by  his  wealth 
Could  not  insure  him  life  one  single  hour. 

To-day  I  viewed  him  coffined  and  confined, 
Borne  by  a  cortege  to  the  silent  tomb ; 

His  friends  and  fortune  left  so  far  behind, 
And  he  enshrouded  in  the  graveyard  gloom. 

To-morrow's  pun  will  see  his  fading  fame, 
And  even  the  memory  of  his  deeds  shall  die ; 

The  world  will  soon  forget  his  lofty  name, 
As  it  forgets  the  meteors  flashing  by. 

His  glory  and  his  strength  alike  have  flown ; 

His  life  was  but  a  writing  on  the  sand ; 
The  palace  he  reared  strange  men  shall  own, 

And  none  will  speak  his  name  in  all  the  land  ! 

¥¥ 

THE  ORIGINAL  TOAST. 
[Dedicated  to  John  L.  Burkart.] 

Here  's  to  the  man  with  his  heart  in  his  hand, 

And  the  woman  who  will  not  resign ; 
Who  sticks  to  her  hero  on  sea  or  on  land, 

Loves  honor  and  flowers  and  wine. 
And  here  's  to  the  truth  of  an  honest,  square  friend, 

On  mountain,  in  valley,  on  wave, 
Who  '11  stand  in  adversity  unto  the  end, 

And  be  with  his  heart  at  your  grave. 


124 


REST. 

Yon  sunset  rays  with  golden  hue 
Enwraps  the  cloud-capped  stormy  west, 

Yet  somewhere,  if  I'm  pure  and  true, 
I  '11  find  relief,  reward,  and  rest. 

I  long  for  all  that  's  hright  and  brave, 
I  hope  for  all  that  's  great  and  blest, 

I  know  that  o'er  the  lone,  green  grave 
There  is  celestial  peace  and  rest. 

I  soon  shall  face  the  dread  Unknown, 
With  nerveless  hands  across  my  breast  ; 

A  broken  harp  bereft  of  tone  — 
A  form  of  clay  at  perfect  rest. 

For  God  is  good,  and  right  is  right, 
And  all  that  's  noble,  kind  and  best, 

Shall  live  while  stars  and  suns  give  light 
Where  weary  hearts  gain  blissful  rest. 


MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

Grandest  of  women,  proud,  glorious  and  free, 

Your  fame  still  sounds  like  the  roar  of  the  sea. 

When  Justice  and  Liberty  battled  for  right 

Your  voice  was  the  loudest  in  front  of  the  fight  ; 

When  Nature  and  Love  spread  their  wings  on  the  gale 

Your  voluptuous  form  in  triumph  could  sail  ; 

And  over  the  world  you  still  can  be  seen, 

With  Delphine,  Germania,  and  lovely  Corrine, 

Where  power  and  passion  are  ever  in  view, 

And  the  pleasures  of  life  are  imnixed  with  the  rue. 


125 


Great  Alpine  heights,  in  their  mantles  of  snow, 
Might  tell  of  your  heart-breaks,  wand'rings  and  woe; 
And  Rusfia  and  Poland,  and  England  and  Rome, 
Once  claimed  the  loved  exile  expelled  from  her  home 
By  Napoleon,  the  tyrant,  who  never  was  true, 
And  who  ran  like  a  poltroon  from  famed  Waterloo, 
And  left  to  the  world  but  the  sound  of  his  name  — 
The  fool  of  ambition,  the  football  of  fame  ! 


WEBSTER. 

[UnTeiling  of  Webster  Statue,  January  18,  1900.] 

Like  some  grand  crag  that  lifts  its  rugged  form, 
He  bares  his  beaming  brow  to  sun  and  storm; 
Or  like  a  lofty  light-house  by  the  sea, 
His  rays  of  genius  flashes  o'er  the  free. 

At  Bunker  Hill  his  burning  words  shone  bright  ; 
And  on  its  summit  beams  of  morning  light 
Still  gild  the  monument  now  old  and  gray, 
That  's  flecked  and  kissed  by  sunset's  parting  ray. 

While  "  Liberty  and  Union  "  bless  this  land, 
"  Inseparable,"  "  forever  "  let  us  stand  — 
A  people  and  a  nation  without  peer  — 
A  band  of  brothers,  brave,  devoid  of  fear. 

The  statesman  in  the  statue  shines  to-day, 
A  glory  to  the  earth  like  yonder  milky  way  ; 
And  down  the  ages,  through  our  smiles  and  tears, 
We  '11  cherish  Webster  for  a  thousand  years. 

The  Donor  and  the  Sculptor,  with  our  praise, 
Shall  live  through  long  and  happy,  cheering  days  ; 
But  Daniel  Webster,  brilliant,  brave  and  bright, 
Shall  shine  immortal  like  the  stars  of  night. 


THE  SENATE  CHAPLAIN. 

Through  rain  and  hail,  and  slush  and  sno\ 

The  Chaplain  takes  his  way  ; 
Although  he  's  blind  and  gray  and  slow, 

His  soul  is  bright  as  day. 

He  totters  to  yon  marble  pile, 

Beneath  that  lofty  dome, 
With  heart  and  faith  devoid  of  guile, 

For  earth  is  not  his  home. 

There,  listening  sages  hear  his  prayer, 
Poured  forth  with  fervent  zeal, 

To  Him  who  's  here  and  everywhere 
When  mortals  humbly  kneel. 


be  the  good,  gray,  honest  head 
That  teaches  us  to  be 
A  people  who  shall  ne'er  be  led 
But  by  proud  Liberty ! 


WALTER  M.  MORELAND. 

Sweet  be  the  flowers  that  bloom  above  his  grave ; 
Green  be  the  spot  where  weeping  willows  wave ; 
And  there  the  warbling  birds,  the  whole  year  round, 
Shall  sing  his  praise  in  liquid,  mystic  sound  ; 
And  morning,  with  her  warmest,  brightest  ray, 
Shall  gild  the  turf  that  wraps  his  manly  clay  ; 
While  sunset  beams,  with  glowing,  mellow  light, 
Shall  bid  our  noble  friend  Farewell !  Good  night ! 


127 


POE. 

Matchless,  insane,  volcanic  child : 
A  light-house  in  the  gloom ; 

A  Geniouf,  lofty,  weird  and  wild, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  tomb. 

Unborn  ages  yet  shall  kneel 
Around  thy  peerless  light, 

And  other  lofty  minds  shall  feel 
Thy  intellectual  might. 

A  meteor  flashing  through  the  sky 

A  phantom  ship  at  sea ; 
The  sorrow  of  a  love-felt  sigh  — 

Fathomless  and  free ! 


BOBBY  BURNS. 

John  Barleycorn  was  always  great, 
He  lived  by  sudden  turns, 

And  had  a  genial  trotting  mate 
In  glorious  Bobby  Burns. 

John  Barleycorn  was  ever  gay, 
And  generous  unto  sorrow  ; 

He  borrowed  all  he  could  to-day 
And  seldom  paid  to-morrow. 

John  Barleycorn  will  never  die, 
For  he  is  mighty  lucky  ; 

He  first  appeared  in  good  Old  Rye 
And  then  in  Old  Kentucky. 

128 


WASHINGTON. 

[Dedicated  to  the  American  soldier.] 

Washington,  greatest  man  of  all  the  ages  ; 
Warrior,  statesman,  strongest  of  the  sages ; 
God -given,  colossal  and  pure  and  brave  — 
Matchless  mortal  who  triumphs  o'er  the  grave. 

Washington,  Columbia  knows  thy  deathless  name, 
Pinnacled  in  rugged  crags  of  lasting  fame ; 
Freedom's  prophet  and  radiant  as  the  stars  — 
The  grandest  Marshal  on  the  field  of  Mars. 

While  suns  and  spheres  shall  round  us  roll, 
And  love  and  truth  entrance  the  human  soul, 
The  world  will  cherish  what  your  valor  won  — 
Immortal,  glorious,  our  own  Washington. 


STEPHEN  COLLINS  FOSTER. 

Such  men  as  Foster  never  die ; 

They  shine  like  stars  in  arctic  sky ; 

Their  laugh  and  song  sounds  through  the  years, 

Dispelling  sorrow,  pain  and  tears. 

"  Old  Uncle  Ned  "  and  "  Swanee  Ribber  " 
Will  linger  down  the  years  forever, 
And  mellow  every  heart  and  soul 
That  's  kind  and  true  from  pole  to  pole. 

"  Kentucky  Home,"  and  "  Old  Folks,"  too, 
Still  brighten  life  like  morning  dew  ; 
And  "  Massa  in  de  Cold,  Cold  Ground  " 
Will  bring  us  tears  with  love  profound. 


129 


The  Poet's  pen  and  mystic  tnne 
Inspire  us  in  the  midnight  noon  ; 
For  he  who  writes  the  songs  we  sing 
Is  greater  far  than  crown  or  king. 

He  cares  not  for  the  sordid  cause, 
Nor  who  invents  or  makes  the  laws  ; 
He  only  cares  to  crush  all  wrongs, 
And  for  his  nation  writes  her  songs. 

When  pomp  and  power  shall  pass  away 
The  Poet  soars  in  deathless  lay  ; 
And  even  when  Earth  is  old  and  gray 
His  songs  shall  triumph  o'er  his  clay. 


IN  THE  LIBRARY. 
[Dedicated  to  Hon.  Ainsworth  R.  Spofford.] 

In  the  midst  of  old  tomes  I  am  thinking, 
As  the  twilight  envelopes  the  day, 

While  Hesperus  is  blinking  and  winking, 
As  the  glory  of  Sol  melts  away. 

The  shadow  of  Homer  is  near  me, 
As  it  was  when  I  once  beamed  a  boy  ; 

I  feel  that  his  spirit  now  hears  me 
Reciting  the  glories  of  Troy. 

And  Horace,  and  Shakespeare  and  Byron, 
And  Dante  and  Milton  and  Poe, 

My  soul  with  celestials  environ, 
As  I  dream  of  the  lost  long  ago. 

130 


The  masters  of  long  vanished  ages 

In  serried  battalions  march  by, 
Displaying  their  classical  pages, 

Bright,  as  stars  in  a  tropical  sky. 

And  the  muses  are  sporting  and  blending 

Where  Apollo  is  tuning  his  lyre, 
With  Bacchus  and  Hebe  attending 

The  Olympian  Gods  and  their  choir. 

O,  let  me  forever  commingle 

With  the  Gods  and  the  Heroes  of  thought, 
And  roam  in  the  dells  and  the  dingle 

Where  proud  manhood  has  labored  and  fought. 


A  SOLDIER'S  DEATH. 

[Dedicated  to  the  memory  of  Mnj.  John  A.  Logan,  killed  November 
12, 1899,  Philippine  Islands.] 

Let  me  like  a  soldier  die, 

Fighting  foes  in  battle ; 
Facing  only  Fate  and  sky  — 

Where  cannons  loudjy  rattle. 

Let  me  like  a  soldier  die 

Upon  the  field  of  glory  — 
Loving  comrades  standing  by 

Who  '11  sound  my  name  in  story. 

Let  me  like  a  soldier  die 
Where  battle  "yells"  are  sounding  ; 

Glorious  death  forever  nigh, 
And  God's  own  love  surrounding ! 

131 


MATTIEVAN. 

I  'm  dreaming  of  my  darling  night  and  day  ; 

My  life  with  her  is  one  sweet,  perfect  plan  ; 
Her  bright  eyes,  like  the  sunshine  of  the  May, 

Sparkle  love,  and  whisper, "  Mattievan." 

Her  voice  comes  in  the  midnight  lone, 
And  lingers  at  my  pillow  but  to  scan 

A  heart  that  beats  for  one  sweet  girl  —  my  own, 
My  darling  little  sweetheart  —  Mattievan. 

Just  Bee  her  in  the  waltz,  so  light  and  free! 

A  jewel  on  the  breast  of  any  man. 
She  may  flirt  with  all  the  world,  but  to  me  — 

My  own  dear  little  sweetheart  — Mattievan. 


132 


' '  JUKI  see  her  in  the  wnltz,  so  light  and  free ! 
A  jewel  on  Vie.  breaxt  of  any  man.  " 


MY  LOVE. 

My  love  for  thee  is  like  the  rose 
That  blushes  in  the  morning  sun, 

And  turns  its  inmost  heart  to  thee 
When  night  has  come  and  day  is  done. 

My  love  for  thee  is  like  the  breeze 
That  kisses  every  fragrant  flower, 

And  bears  away  the  sweet  perfume 
That  breathes  for  love  from  hour  to  hour. 

My  love  for  thee  is  like  the  sea 
That  sings  and  sounds  on  every  shore, 

And  when  the  storms  of  passion  rise, 
'T  is  then  I  'm  thine  forevermore. 

My  love  is  like  the  sunny  beams 
That  slumber  on  the  bounding  wave, 

Immortal  as  ecstatic  dreams 
That  thrill  the  soul  beyond  the  grave. 

My  love  is  like  the  twilight  stars 

Reflected  on  a  summer  sea, 
Still  shining  o'er  the  bays  and  bars 

That  rim  the  shores  of  memory. 

My  love  is  like  the  mystic  moon 
That  rules  the  ebb  and  flowing  tide, 

That  in  its  beaming,  nightly  noon 
Enwraps  the  ocean  as  a  bride. 

My  love  for  thee  is  like  the  fire 
That  burns  within  volcanic  isles: 

Undying,  rising  higher  and  higher ; 
Eternal  in  your  soothing  smiles ! 

135 


THE  SEA. 

How  I  long  to  roam  o'er  the  bounding  sea, 
Where  the  waters  and  winds  are  fierce  and  free  ; 
Where  the  wild  bird  sails  in  his  tireless  flight, 
As  the  sunrise  scatters  the  shades  of  night ; 
Where  the  porpoise  and  dolphin  sport  at  play 
In  their  liquid  realm  of  green  and  gray. 
Ah,  me  !  It  is  there  I  would  love  to  be 
Engulfed  in  the  tomb  of  eternity ! 

In  the  midnight  hour  when  the  moon  hangs  low 
And  the  stars  beam  forth  with  a  mystic  glow  ; 
When  the  mermaids  float  o'er  the  rolling  tide 
And  Neptune  entangles  his  beaming  bride  — 
It  is  there  in  that  phosphorescent  wave 
I  would  gladly  sink  in  an  ocean  grave  — 
To  rise  and  fall  with  the  songs  of  the  sea, 
And  live  in  the  chant  of  its  memory. 

Around  the  world  my  form  should  sweep  — 
Part  of  the  glorious,  limitless  deep  ; 
Enmeshed  by  fate  in  some  coral  cave, 
And  rising  again  to  the  topmost  wave, 
That  curls  in  beauty  its  snowy  spray 
And  kisses  the  light  of  the  garish  day ; 
Ah  !  there  let  me  drift  when  this  life  is  o'er, 
To  be  tossed  and  tumbled  from  shore  to  shore. 


ENVY. 

Care  not  for  the  envious  rabble 
Who  are  only  dregs  and  dross  ; 

Malice,  hate  and  garbled  gabble, 
Are  the  nails  upon  their  cross. 

136 


Day  by  day  they  feed  on  slander, 
Hating  those  who  rise  and  soar, — 

Pauper  minds  that  only  pander  — 
Sordid  creatures  to  the  core. 

Toss  your  flowing  locks  above  them ; 

Scorn  their  praise  and  sneaking  ways 
Soar  beyond  their  fickle  knowledge 

Into  happier,  brighter  days. 

God  has  made  you  like  the  eagle  — 
Proud  and  lonely  in  his  flight ; 

Pure  and  brilliant,  rich  and  regal, 
Like  the  glittering  stars  of  night. 


LOST. 

[Dedicated  to  the  disappointed.] 

What  is  a  palace  or  home  to  me 

When  the  fires  of  love  are  dead, 
And  the  ashes  of  hopes  are  buried 

With  the  joy  of  the  bridal  bed. 

I  want  no  sordid,  simpering  thing 

Who  lives  for  fashion  and  gain, 
Who  only  loves  the  glare  of  wealth  — 

Departing  in  trouble  and  pain. 

Far  better  to  live  on  a  crust  of  bread, 
With  the  heart  that  is  fond  and  true, 

On  whose  loving  breast  you  can  lay  your  head 
And  believe  it  is  all  for  you. 


137 


SALUTATORY. 

[On  opening  Lafayette  Square  Opera  House,  Washington,  D.  C.. 
September  30, 1895.] 

This  night  we  dedicate  to  art 
A  temple  Where  the  muse  takes  wing, 

And  where  each  actor  plays  his  part 
As  peasant,  gentleman  or  king. 

We  '11  try  to  please  the  public  taste, 
And  give  to  all  a  welcome  cheer, 

And  show  that  genius  can  be  chaste, 
And  hold  her  own  from  year  to  year. 

We  'II  play  the  play  that  most  accords 
With  virtue  in  her  grandest  flight, 

And  give  to  wrong  her  just  rewards; 
Show  up  the  villain  day  and  night. 

Great  Shakespeare  shall  our  master  be, 
With  "  Hamlet,"  "  Lear,"  and  " Caesar"  too, 

And  "  Romeo,"  with  his  gallantry, 
Shall  woo  fair  "  Juliet,"  fond  and  true. 

"  Othello  "  with  his  jealous  love ; 

And  "  Richard  "  with  his  cruel  heart ; 
"Ophelia,"  like  a  lonely  dove, 

Shall  walk  these  boards  and  play  their  part. 

"  Midsummer  Nights  "  shall  bring  you  peace, 
And  "  Winter's  Tale  "  shall  long  be  told, 

Still  seeking  for  the  Golden  Fleece 
That  roused  the  soul  in  days  of  old. 

Here  "  Shylock,"  for  his  pound  of  flesh, 
Shall  seek  the  bankrupt's  sinking  heart, 

Entangling  in  his  miser  mesh 
The  man  who  seeks  his  monied  mart. 


138 


•'  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  "  shall  be  played 
With  all  its  merry  scenes  and  joy, 

And  Goldsmith's  spirit  shall  pervade 
The  acts  and  scenes  without  alloy. 

Dear  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  "  and  "  Our  Joe  " 
Shall  act  as  one  their  heart-felt  part, 

And  "  Schneider  "  in  his  lonely  woe 
Would  know  the  master  of  his  heart. 

Poor  "  Billy  Florence  "  we  shall  miss, 
No  more  his  "  Slote  "  or  "  Brierly  "  cheer. 

Or  "  Cuttle  "  in  his  bounding  bliss, 
Provoke  the  laugh,  the  sigh  or  tear. 

Yet  other  actors  here  shall  play 
The  parts  h'e  took  in  joy  or  strife  ; 

But  none,  I  fear,  can  act  his  way 
And  paint  the  colors  true  to  life. 

Here  Patti,  that  great  child  of  song, 
Shall  thrill  the  heart  of  those  who  roam, 

And  with  her  magic  notes  prolong 
The  glory  of  dear  "  Home,  Sweet  Home." 

Here  "  Terpsichore  " ;  and  "  Thalia,"  true 
To  Nature  and  her  honest  laws ; 

"  Melpomine  "  shall  be  here  too, 
And  try  to  merit  your  applause. 

Here  merry  "  Falstaff"  shall  be  heard, 
With  all  his  acts  and  jokes  at  play, 

And  many  minds  will  then  be  stirred 
By  laughing  lazy  hours  away. 

139 


And  as  the  ages  come  and  go, 
We  '11  still  display  the  deathless  art, 

And  teach  that  in  our  weal  or  woe 
The  fount  of  love  is  in  the  heart. 

Here  Lillian  Russell,  now,  to-night, 
Will  sing  De  Koven's  matchless  airs, 

And  thrill  the  heart  with  scenes  so  bright ; 
Dispelling  all  your  trials  and  cares. 

¥¥ 

GENERAL  GARCIA. 

Such  men  as  Garcia  never  die! 
Like  stars  that  glitter  in  the  sky, 
O'er  storms  and  clouds  they  still  shine  on 
Their  glorious  light  is  never  gone, 
But  through  the  circling,  rolling  years 
They  win  our  smiles  and  dry  our  tears, 
And  over  every  land  and  sea 
They  light  the  torch  of  Liberty! 
Long  shall  Free  Cuba  love  thy  name ; 
In  lasting  bronze  prolong  thy  fame, 
And  every  rock,  and  rill,  and  river, 
Shall  sound  the  patriot's  name  forever. 

ft* 

MY  HOME. 

A  PATHETIC  SONG. 

Though  friends  betray  and  pas*  away 
When  I  shall  cross  the  ocean  foam, 

Yet  to  the  long,  eternal  day, 
I  '11  claim  your  loving  heart  my  home. 

140 


And  to  the  sunset  of  my  years, 

No  matter  where  my  footsteps  roam, 

I  '11  cherish  you  through  smiles  and  tears, 
And  b'iieve  your  honest  heart  my  home. 

Through  all  the  struggles  of  my  life, 

In  cot,  in  castle,  or  in  dome, 
My  soul  has  triumphed  over  strife, 

Because  your  heart  is  still  my  home. 


LAUGHING  VOICES. 
[Dedicated  to  the  memory  of  departed  friends.] 

How  the  loving,  laughing  voices 

Of  the  past  come  back  to  me, 
As  I  wander  tired  and  lonely 

O'er  life's  troubled,  stormy  sea ; 
And  they  bring  me  consolation 

When  all  other  joys  are  fled  — 
For  I  'm  dying  with  the  living. 

And  I  'm  living  with  the  dead. 

How  the  years  have  scarred  my  features; 

And  the  ingrates  torn  my  heart; 
How  the  battle  bayonets  glisten — 

Where  I  played  the  bravest  part. 
Yet  those  loving,  laughing  voices 

Sound  forever  in  mine  ear, 
And  thrill  my  soul  with  pleasure 

Every  hour  and  day  and  year. 


In  the  midnight  of  my  sorrow, 

Far  away  from  friends  and  home, 
I  can  hear  those  laughing  voices 

When  in  foreign  lands  I  roam  ; 
And  their  faces  come  to  gladden 

When  all  other  ones  have  fled  — 
Yes!  I  'm  dying  with  the  living, 

And  I  'in  living  with  the  dead  ! 


NOW   AND  THEN. 

I  '11  not  need  your  loving  kindness 

When  my  head  is  pillowed  low, 
Nor  the  truth  and  faith  you  gave  me 

In  the  pleasant  long  ago  ; 
But  my  spirit  shall  be  near  you 

In  the  night  of  grief  and  rare, 
And  when  other  friends  shall  leave  you 

I  '11  be  close  and  nestle  there. 

I  '11  not  hear  your  loving  accents 

Breathing  music  sweet  and  low, 
When  the  evening  shadows  linger, 

And  the  clouds  sift  down  the  snow. 
Well  I  know  your  heart  will  cherish 

All  that  makes  my  memory  dear, 
When  the  withered  leaves  are  falling 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year. 

So,  before  we  part,  my  darling, 
Let  us  learn  this  lesson  true  ; 

That  the  present  is  the  season 
To  caress,  and  dare,  and  do ! 

142 


If  you  have  a  flower  to  give  me, 

Let  me  know  its  sweets  to-day  ; 
Place  it  not  upon  my  coffin 

When  my  soul  has  passed  away. 

¥¥ 

SWEET  LIZZIE. 

I  have  wandered  o'er  mountains  and  seas  far  apart, 
Where  the  wild  winds  of  heaven  are  free, 

But  I  never  saw  one  who  so  thrilled  my  lone  heart 
As  dear  Lizzie,  who  loved  only  me. 

CHORUS 

O,  Lizzie,  sweet  Lizzie,  I  am  coming  to  thee ; 
My  soul  is  afloat  on  the  blue  bounding  sea. 

Long  years  have  gone  by  since  we  sat  on  the  shore 

And  plighted  our  vows  to  the  sea ; 
She  has  gone  o'er  the  billows,  is  lost  evermore, 

My  sweet  Lizzie,  who  loved  only  me. 

But  soon  I  shall  follow  my  angelic  bride 

And  clasp  her  in  glory  so  free, 
And  sail  with  the  surf  that  shines  high  on  the  tide, 

To  bright  Lizzie,  who  loved  only  me  ! 


FATALITY. 

[Dedicated  to  Presumption,  Pelf  and  Pride.] 

A  few  more  days  and  all  this  world  for  me 
Will  vanish  like  the  surf  upon  the  sea, 
And  yon  bright  sun  that  I  behold  to  day 
Shall  only  shine  upon  my  pulseless  clay. 
The  flowers  will  never  bloom  again  for  me, 
Nor  loved  ones  play  or  clamber  on  my  knee : 

143 


But  lost  to  earth  and  every  living  friend, 

My  name  and  fame  shall  reach  its  final  end. 

The  snows  of  sixty  winters  crown  my  head, 

And  scores  of  loyal,  loving  friends  are  dead  ; 

And  all  that's  left  to  me  is  grief  and  care  — 

No  sincere  smile  to  greet  me  anywhere. 

The  hollow-hearted  world  drifts  along; 

The  weak  are  overwhelmed  by  the  strong; 

And  pampered  power,  entrenched  with  shining  gold, 

Rides  over  right  where  hearts  are  bought  and  sold  ; 

While  force  and  fniud  holds  secret,  sinful  sway, 

And  Mammon  is  the  reigning  God  to-day  ! 

The  pauper,  prince  and  peasant  only  feel 

That  crime  is  the  detection,  not  the  steal, 

And  that  with  gold  you  wipe  out  every  flaw 

And  purchase  lawyers  who  can  twist  the  law. 

The  judge  upon  the  bench,  with  solemn  face, 

Is  often  but  a  dastard  and  disgrace; 

And  holds  the  scales  of  justice  as  of  old, 

But  tips  the  balance  at  the  beck  of  gold. 

The  moulders  and  the  weavers  fashion  wears ; 

The  huntsmen  and  the  statesmen  lay  their  snares 

To  catch  the  best  of  life  where  folly  flies, 

And  cheat  their  victims  with  smooth,  liquid  lies. 

The  doctor,  with  his  powders,  cups  and  pills, 

Will  save  creation  from  its  aching  ills, 

And  make  old  things  as  perfect  as  the  new ; 

With  gold  he  '11  cure  the  many  or  the  few. 

The  preacher  in  the  pulpit  talks  for  pay, 

From  gosling  green,  till  old  and  weak  and  gray, 

And  lets  imagination  have  full  sway  — 

Poetic,  patient,  pleasant,  sometimes  gay, 

Not  knowing  what  he  's  doing  with  the  crowd, 

But  thinks  he  'a  preaching  when  he  's  talking  loud  ! 


144 


The  farmer  in  the  spring  must  plant-his  grain  ; 

And  trusts  that  with' the  sun  and  showering  rain 

He  '11  reap  a  harvest  great  and  manifold, 

And  fill  his  coffers  with  bright,  clinking  gold  ; 

But  cold  and  heat,  and  bugs  and  vagrant  flies, 

With  storms  descending  from  the  chilling  skies, 

Make  havoc  of  his  hopes  and  patient  care 

And  leaves  but  doubt  and  debt,  with  fields  go  bare. 

The  soldier,  with  his  power  and  pomp  and  pride, 

Seeks  lasting  glory  where  his  comrades  died, 

And  charges  on  the  foe  to  win  a  name 

That  long  shall  glitter  on  the  rolls  of  fame ; 

He  cares  not  where  he  falls,  on  land  or  sea, 

He  only  craves  for  immortality ; 

And  waves  his  flag  forever  in  the  air, 

And,  dying,  knows  that  it 's  still  shining  there. 

The  sailor,  too,  \vherever  he  is  cast, 

Is  constant,  faithful  in  the  withering  blast ; 

And  when  wild,  fearful  storms  loudly  roar 

Against  the  jagged  rocks  that  line  the  shore 

His  heart  is  still  undaunted  to  the  last; 

And  even  in  death  he  's  lashed  unto  the  mast ; 

And  if  on  arctic  waves  or  tropic  seas, 

He  never  to  the  foe  shall  bend  his  knees ; 

But  ppeaks  through  roaring  guns  without  a  brag  — 

For  wife  and  sweetheart,  country,  home  and  flag. 

The  patriot,  the  poet  and  the  eage, 

Have  sought  for  glory  in  each  circling  age ; 

Yet  even  these  lofty  pioneers  of  truth 

Have  wasted  hope  and  health  and  lusty  youth 

To  reap  from  all  the  flowery  fields  of  thought 

Immortal  roses,  and  have  found  them  naught 

But  briers  by  the  wayside  of  to-day 

That  bloom  and  sting  and  grow  but  to  decay. 


145 


So  each  one  in  his  different  sphere  to-day 
Is  but  a  mass  of  animated  ckiy, 
"  To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale," 
For  those  who  now  succeed,  shall  quickly  fail  ; 
And  those  who  rise  and  fall  at  mammon's  beck 
Shall  end  at  last  a  crumbling,  total  wreck  ; 
And  even  the  memory  of  their  power  and  name 
Shall  surely  vanish  from  the  page  of  fame; 
While  tombs  and  towers  o'er  the  bright  and  brave 
Shall  topple  on  their  lone,  forgotten  grave; 
Then  we  must  know  and  feel  that  wealth  and  trust 
Can't  save  us  from  becoming  destined  dust  ! 


THE  ROCKS  IN  THE  RIVER. 

[Dedicated  to  Miss  Clara,  recently  married.] 

As  your  life  glides  along  Hke'the  strain  of  a  song 

Or  a  smile  from  the  lips  of  THE  GIVKR, 
Keep  a  ward  on  your  tongue,  and  fresh  air  in  your  lungs, 

But  beware  of  the  rocks  in  the  river  ! 

Your  marital  boat  is  to-day  fast  afloat, 
And  the  sunlight  as  blessings  now  quiver, 

And  sweet  love  with  its  cheer,  shall  be  yours  year  by  year, 
Yet  look  out  for  the  rocks  in  the  river! 

So  be  pure,  true  and  just,  then  with  Faith,  Hope,  and  Trust, 

You  will  always  retain  a  good  liver! 
And  be  rich,  fine  and  kind,  with  a  jolly  good  mind, 

And  steer  over  the  rocks  in  the  river! 

And  when  life  is  all  o'er,  on  some  beautiful  shore, 
We  shall  meet  once  again  the  GKKAT  GIVER. 

Where  the  true  man  and  wife,  in  a  loftier  life, 
Row  away  from  all  rocks  in  the  river  ! 

146 


MARIE. 

The  stars  shine  bright,  the  rivers  roll  along, 
And  life  floats  smoothly  as  a  summer  song; 
The  wavelets  kiss  the  sands  upon  the  sea, 
And  in  my  dreams  I  press  thy  lips,  Marie. 

Sweet  memory  with  her  magic  charm  displays 
The  smiles  and  friends  I  loved  in  boyhood  days ; 
But  none  appears  so  fond  and  fair  and  free 
As  my  beatific  beauty,  dear  Marie. 

In  all  the  troubles  of  my  wand'ring  life, 
In  all  my  sins  and  sorrows,  grief  and  strife,  • 
I  still  am  cheered,  on  valley,  mount  and  sea, 
Whene'er  I  ponder  on  my  pure  Marie. 

Although  another  love  may  thrill  you  now, 
And  print  warm  kisses  on  your  marble  brow, 
I  think  and  know  and  feel  that  none  like  me 
Has  loved  so  long  and  true,  my  sweet  Marie. 

¥¥ 

CRAPE  ON  THE  DOOR. 

There  's  crape  on  the  door,  my  heart  is  so  sore 

For  the  beauty  and  love  that  I  cherished  ; 
Her  life  it  is  past,  like  dust  on  the  blast, 

Or  the  blush  on  the  rose  that  has  perished. 
There  's  crape  on  the  door ;  alas !  nevermore 

Shall  I  gaze  on  her  image  to-morrow ; 
She  's  gone  like  a  dream,  my  beautiful  beam, 

That  shone  in  my  moments  of  sorrow. 
There  's  crape  on  the  door,  down  in  my  heart's  core 

There  's  a  scar  that  will  last  o'er  the  billow 
Of  time  undefined,  till  I  meet  my  lost  child, 

And  sleep  by  her  side  'neath  the  willow. 


147 


LAWTON. 

He  who  dies  for  home  and  country 

Can  not  die  in  vain  ; 
Memory  of  his  deeds  shall  linger  — 

Deathless  is  his  fame. 

Battle  fame  is  still  eternal ; 

Suns  and  stars  illume; 
Love  and  Truth  can  never  perish  — 

Triumphs  o'er  the  tomb. 

Lawton's  fame  shall  live  forever ; 

Sound  his  praises  high  ; 
Grave  upon  the  sculptured  marble  - 

Worth  can  never  die ! 


148 


"Lawtan'*  .fame  shnlf  live  forever 


OH!    HELEN! 

Oh  !  Helen  Prentice  Donohue, 

Is  your  father  from  Mayo  ? 
"  God  knows  "  it  matters  little, 

So  your  husband  is  De  Deyo. 

And  may  you  live  a  thousand  years 

Without  a  tale  of  woe  — 
In  love  and  peace,  devoid  of  fear, 

With  your  "  Dandy  Boy  "  —  De  Deyo. 

May  your  children  in  the  parlor, 
And  your  children  in  the  street, 

Be  bright  as  diamonds  day  and  night, 
So  "  purty,"  "  nate,"  and  sweet. 

And  when  your  time  shall  come,  "  me  love. 

To  go  where  all  must  go, 
I  hope  you  '11  shine  in  heaven  above 

With  your  "  Darlin'  Duck  "  —  De  Deyo ! 


GENIUS. 

A  Genius  cares  not  for  the  crowd ; 

He  walks  alone  the  path  of  life, 
And  though  the  storm  be  long  and  loud, 

He  triumphs  over  every  strife. 

The  laws  that  bind  the  rabble  crew 
Can  not  control  his  lofty  mind ; 

He  soars  into  the  welkin  blue  — 
And  leaves  the  crawling  things  behind 

151 


Genius  !  sweet  nurse  of  great  design, 
Reign  o'er  my  heart  and  soaring  soul  ; 

I  worship  at  thy  mystic  shrine, 
And  knowing  thee,  I  know  the  whole. 

The  canvas  glows  beneath  thy  hand, 
The  marble  breathes  with  human  face. 

And  strains  of  music  thrill  the  land  — 
The  Muses  Nine  thy  soul  embrace. 

Dark  Envy  with  her  sneaking  sneer, 
And  Malice  with  her  cruel  blows, 

Pursues  him  ever  far  and  near  — 
A  shining  mark  for  dastard  foes. 

O'er  seas  unknown  and  lands  afar 
The  Genius  steers  his  certain  course, 

With  Truth  his  guide  and  polar  star 
And  God  his  only  shield  and  source. 


THE  "HAS  BEENS." 

How  the  "  Has  Beens  "  make  me  tired, 
As  they  squirm  and  fume  and  fret, 

Like  a  Jackass  that  is  mired  — 
They  don't  know  when  it  'a  wet  ! 

Like  "  Tooly  Tailors  "  groaning, 

Because  of  cruel  fate, 
They  imagine  they  're  the  People, 

And  the  balance  of  the  State  ! 

But  if  they  only  knew  it, 
Their  howl  and  squeal  and  gas 

Is  a  feeble  imitation 
Of  the  braying  of  an  ass  ! 

152 


Let  them  howl  and  squeal  and  revel ; 

It  is  all  that  they  can  do, 
Except  going  to  the  Devil, 

With  his  disappointed  crew ! 

¥¥ 

HURRAH  FOR  DAVE  HENDERSON! 

AIR.— "Rally  Round  the  Flag." 

We  are  coming,  David  Henderson, 
A  hundred  more  and  strong, — 

Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom  ; 
To  put  you  in  the  Speaker's  chair, 
It  will  not  take  us  long  — 

Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom. 

CHORUS. 
Hurrah  for  Dave  Henderson, 

He  's  one  of  the  "  Boys  " — 
He  has  captured  the  "  New  Yorkers," 

And  votes  from  Illinois  ; 
Then  we  '11  rally  round  the  "  Speaker," 
Rally  true  and  strong  — 

Shout  for  the  glory  of  our  David. 

He  is  known  throughout  the  Union 
As  loyal,  kind  and  true  — 

Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom ; 
And  he  lost  his  leg  in  battle, 
While  fighting  for  the  "  Blue  " — 

Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom. 

Old  David  slew  Goliah, 

And  Lincoln  freed  the  slave  — 
Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom  ; 

153 


So  Henderson  shall  conquer, 
Because  he  's  bold  and  brave  — 
Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom. 

And  sun-  as  suns  and  stars 
Shine  brightly  everywhere  — 

Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom; 
Dave  Henderson  is  marching 
To  take  the  "  Speaker's  Chair"  — 

Shout  in  the  battle  cry  of  freedom. 

¥¥ 

FIRST  KISSES. 

The  years  have  vanished  with  all  their  blisses 
Since  first  I  purloined  your  passion  kisses, 
Snatched  from  your  lips  in  the  tangled  glen  — 
Away  from  the  haunts  of  cruel  men; 
And  your  bright  blue  eyes  told  of  joy  and  pride 
As  you  sunk  in  my  arms,  trembled  and  sighed, 
While  your  auburn  hair  fell  over  my  face, 
And  your  bounding  breast  with  a  tender  grace 
Arose  and  fell  through  the  billows  of  lace. 

REMEMBRANCE. 

And  though  many  long  years  have  passed  away 
And  a  crown  of  snow  decks  our  brows  to-day, 
The  ghost  of  those  kisses  are  with  us  yet, 
And  the  rapture  of  soul  we  can't  forget. 
And  if  we  are  destined  to  meet  no  more 
On  this  troubled  sphere  and  this  gin-cursed  shore, 
I  know  there  's  a  land  where  sweet  kisses  bloom. 
And  where  never  again  is  grief  or  gloom  — 
And  Love  is  triumphant  over  the  tomb! 


154 


NORA. 

SONG   OF  THE  EXILE. 

Oh,  Nora,  my  darling,  awake  from  thy  slumber ; 

The  lark  circles  high  through  the  dews  and  the  sun: 
And  I,  as  an  exile,  must  leave  thee,  my  beauty, 

To  wander  alone  until  life's  work  is  done. 

Oh,  Nora,  my  darling,  the  thrush  o'er  the  heather 
Sings  sweet  to  his  mate  in  the  greatest  of  glee, 

While  I  am  forlorn  and  weary,  and  banished 
From  country  and  mother,  from  glory  and  thee. 

The  hand  of  the  tyrant  has  doomed  me  to  sever 
The  links  that  I  love  in  dear  Erin,  my  own ; 

But  where'er  I  wander,  o'er  mountain  or  river, 
My  soul  and  my  heart  shall  be  thine,  sweet,  alone. 

Columbia  invites  every  exile  of  Erin 

To  rest  'neath  the  shade  of  her  blossoming  tree  ; 
One  kiss  and  I  'm  gone,  my  Nora,  my  darling, 

To  the  land  of  the  noble,  the  brave  and  the  free. 

My  country,  my  country,  for  thee  I  am  weeping; 

The  tyrant  still  chains  thee  to  grief  and  despair; 
Yet  "some  day  "  you  '11  rise  from  your  ashes  of  sorrow 

And  beam  like  the  stars  that  are  shining  Up  There ! 


LOVERS  ONCE. 

"  Lovers  once,  but  strangers  now  " — 
Yet  memory  points  where  first  we  met ; 

I  hear  again  your  solemn  vow, 
And  never  can  that  pledge  forget. 

155 


Though  seas  divide  and  oceans  roar, 
The  love  that  thrilled  our  checkered  past 

Must  still  be  love  forevermore, 
And  linger  round  us  to  the  last. 

The  purple  vase,  once  filled  with  flowers, 
In  broken  parts  may  lowly  lie, 

But  love  that  blessed  our  courtship  hours 
Shall  live  like  hope  and  never  die. 

Misfortune  may  our  lives  pursue, 
And  angry  pride  pervade,  prevail. 

But  if  your  love  was  ever  true 
It  triumphs  over  every  gale. 

Our  souls  were  never  made  akin  ; 

I  soared  into  the  boundless  blue, 
And  well  I  know  what  might  have  been 

Were  you  considerate,  kind  and  true. 

Our  paths  below  must  break  apart 
Till  life  exhausts  its  latest  breath, 

While  each  must  bear  a  wounded  heart 
To  be  cemented  after  death. 

MP 
A  PROPHESY. 

A  hundred  years  from  now 
We  '11  talk  through  ambient  air, 

Across  ten  thousand  miles  of  seas. 
Without  a  wire  there. 

A  hundred  years  from  now 

The  cheery  morning  suns 
Will  warm  our  homes  in  winter 

And  cook  our  beef  and  buns. 

156 


A  hundred  years  from  now 

Flotillas  in  the  air, 
Including  lightning  battle  ships, 

Will  fight  most  anywhere. 

A  hundred  years  from  now 
All  princes,  dukes,  and  kings 

Shall  be  unknown  upon  the  earth  - 
These  vultures  must  take  wings  ! 

A  hundred  years  from  now 
There  '11  be  no  crown  or  creed, 

But  on  this  sod  we  '11  worship  God  • 
And  truth  and  love  shall  lead. 

A  hundred  years  from  now 

Aluminum  shall  be 
The  building  matter  of  the  globe, 

With  electricity. 


THE  BUSYBODY. 

The  busybody  stirs  about, 
Like  microbes  in  the  air; 

He  's  seldom  in  and  ever  out, 
To  foster  grief  and  care. 

The  busybody  is  a  pest 

Wherever  he  is  found, 
And  never  gives  you  any  rest 

While  he  is  over  ground. 

The  busybody  is  a  liar, 
And  an  arrant  coward,  too  ; 

He  stirs  up  passion,  pain  and  ire, 
And  never  can  be  true. 

157 


I  often  wish,  but  wish  in  vain, 

That  that  Infernal  Swell 
Would  break  his  neck  in  sun  or  rain 

And  then  go  right  to  hell  ! 


DON'T  GAMBLE  IN  STOCKS. 

Don't  gamble  in  stocks  —  have  tried  it  myself, 

On  many  a  bright  rosy  morn  ; 
Do  what  you  may,  you  'II  be  put  on  the  shelf  — 

"  Come  out  the  small  end  of  the  horn." 

I  tackled  K.  T.,  and  purchased  Erie, 

The  morning  I  first  got  to  "  town  "  ; 
But  now  I  can  see  my  fond  prophecy  — 

The  one  to  go  up  went  right  down. 

I  then  "  struck  "  Lake  Shore  and  old  Baltimore, 

That  was  rated  fine  as  pure  gold  ; 
With  "  calls  "  by  the  score,  and  margins  for  more, 

I  found  in  the  end  I  was  sold. 

I  then  tried  W.  U.,  and  sound  C.  B.  Q., 
Sold  "  short,"  and  went  "  long"  on  0.  T.  : 

Had  "puts"  on  U.  P.,  and  "calls"  on  S.  E., 
And  "  straddled  "  the  market  in  glee. 

I  waited  to  see  the  rise  in  U.  P., 

The  long  wished  for  bulge  in  0.  T.  ; 
But,  'twixt  you  and  me,  the  "  bears  "  made  me  flee 

And  got  all  1  dropped  in  U.  P. 

I  caught  a  great  haul  at  last  in  St.  Paul, 
And  played  it  "according  to  Hoyle," 

With  brokers  and  "  bears,"  who  brought  all  my 
Ajid  robbed  me  once  more  in  crude  oil. 


158 


I- tried  wheat  and  lard ;  also  Grant  &  Ward, 
With  contracts  procured  on  the  sly ; 

In  "  short "  and  "  long  "  grain  they  got  me  again. 
And  profits  were  "  all  in  my  eye." 

I  '11  say  to  the  "  boys,"  "  don't  court '  future'  joys, 

And  wish  to  be  happy  in  life; 
So  keep  out  to-day,  let  stocks  run  away, 

And  give  your  '  collat.'  to  your  wife." 

Thus  take  my  advice  without  any  price, 
'T  will  serve  you  in  famine  or  fame  ; 

For  soon  you  will  find,  the  fool 's  left  behind 
That  tackles  another  man's  game ! 


SWEET  SIXTEEN. 

O,  could  I  stay  at  sweet  sixteen 
And  have  no  care  or  sorrow, 

Where  only  love  would  intervene, 
Where  sunshine  cheers  each  morrow ! 

Yet  I  shall  feel  just  sweet  sixteen 

When  I  arrive  at  fifty, 
And  sport  upon  some  flowery  scene, 

So  hearty,  hale  and  thrifty. 

I  '11  laugh  and  play,  and  still  be  gay 
Around  the  village  green  — 

And  act  when  I  am  old  and  gray 
As  if  I  'm  just  sixteen ! 

159 


SHAKESPEARE. 

[Dedicated  to  Colonel  Robert  G.  Ingersoll.  • 

Hail,  mighty  genius!  Royal  in  thy  flight; 
Bright,  grand,  glorious,  as  the  stars  of  night ; 
A  quarry  for  all  nations  to  explore  — 
A  mine  of  thought  now,  and  evermore. 
Radiant  as  the  hues  of  rainbow  light,— 
Limitless  as  eagles  in  their  flight; 
Spanning  the  earth,  the  sea  and  shining  sky. 
Godhead  of  all  reason  —  One  All-Seeing  Eye ! 
Divine,  with  attributes  so  vast  and  lone ; 
Great,  without  rival,  fathomless,  unknown  ; 
Sententious,  seeking,  soaring  and  sublime; 
Essence  of  all  knowledge,  tow 'ring  o'er  time, 
God  of  all  ages,  marvelous,  minute, 
Monarch  of  all  men,  product  of  all  fruit. 
A  brainy  ocean,  where  all  rivers  meet  — 
Concentrated  conscience,  cloudless,  complete. 
The  fallen  Wolsey  and  great  Csesar,  too, 
Shall  teach  their  lesson,  and  this  thought  imbue, 
That  genius  such  as  thine  is  only  given 
To  wield  for  every  good  and  hope  of  heaven. 
King  Lear  and  Hamlet  stalk  across  the  stage 
And  thrill  the  yearning  soul  from  age  to  age, 
While  Romeo  and  Juliet  never  die, 
But  shine  eternal,  in  the  lovelit  sky, 
Where  truth  and  virtue  dwell  forevermore 
Upon  the  sands  of  God's  celestial  shore. 
To  thee,  great  bard,  I  sing  this  fleeting  lay  ; 
The  God  of  Knowledge,  like  the  sun  of  day  — 
Irradiating  earth,  with  thoughts  sublime  — 
The  greatest  mortal  in  the  tides  of  time ! 


160 


THE  PRIVATE  SECRETARY. 

Oh  !  "  Holy  Moses,"  look  at  that  — 

The  Private  Secretary  ; 
He  wiggles  like  a  jumping-jack  — 

The  son  of  Bridget  Gary  ! 

Oh!  "  Man  Alive,"  look  at  the  lad, 

In  momentary  power  ; 
He  would  n't  even  know  his  "  Dad  " 

If  he  'd  walk  in  this  hour  ! 

The  cares  of  state  rest  on  his  pate  — 

The  Senator  ain't  in  it  ; 
You  could  n't  tamper  with  his  "  dig." 

No,  "  Honey,"  not  a  minute  ! 

But  soon  the  beggar  "  Boy  "  will  go, 
No  more  a  horseback  racer  ; 

In  fact,  when  he  is  out  of  power 
He  won't  be  even  a  pacer  ! 


THE  BRIDGE. 

A  PARODY. 

I  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 
As  the  planks  were  rotting  away, 

And  a  light  shone  o'er  the  city 
As  the  toll-bridge  went  to  decay. 

How  often,  oh  !  how  often, 
In  the  days  that  had  gone  by, 

I  stopped  at  the  bridge  in  daylight 
And  paid  my  toll  with  a  sigh. 

161 


For  my  heart  was  hot  and  restless, 

And  my  life  was  full  of  gall, 
At  this  crumbling  relic  of  blackmail 

That  must  sink  to  a  speedy  fall. 

Yet  whenever  I  cross  the  river 
On  this  bridge  with  mouldering  piers, 

The  odor  of  slavery  stuns  me,  — 
And  the  darkness  of  vanished  years  ! 


TRAPPINGS  OF  CLAY. 

These  trappings  of  clay  shall  moulder  away 

And  leave  not  a  vestige  behind  ; 
But  Truth  in  its  bloom  shall  rise  o'er  the  tomb 

To  glorify  God-given  mind. 

A  very  few  years  commingled  with  fears 
Are  all  that  each  mortal  can  claim, 

With  some  little  joy  —  a  bauble  or  toy  — 
One  blast  from  the  trumpet  of  Fame 

And  then  we  are  naught,  as  if  never  brought 

To  dance  out  our  poor  little  day 
In  a  world  of  care,  bleak,  barren  and  bare  — 

So  lonesome,  and  passing  away. 

But  while  we  are  here  let  's  join  in  the  cheer, 
And  laugh  with  a  merry  good  will, 

Throw  care  to  the  wind,  and  ever  be  kind 
To  those  who  are  climbing  the  hill 

That  points  to  a  land,  rich,  blooming  and  grand, 
Where  virtue  shall  ever  be  blessed, 

And  all  who  are  true,  whether  many  or  few, 
Shall  cease  from  their  labors  and  rest. 


162 


SIR  MOSES  MONTEFIORE. 

[Dedicated  to  Hon.  Simon  Wolf,  1884.] 

A  hundred  years  of  glorious  life 
Have  crowned  our  royal  hero, 

The  best  of  all  in  Hebrew  strife  — 
Sir  Moses  Montefiore. 

A  hundred  years  of  love  and  truth 
Have  blessed  his  deep  devotion 

For  those  oppressed  in  age  or  youth, 
Enchained  on  land  or  ocean. 

A  hundred  years  of  richest  dower 
Have  made  him  great  in  beauty, 

Like  David  in  his  Psalms  of  power  — 
Like  Solomon  in  duty. 

A  million  years  can  not  efface 

The  record  of  the  good, 
Nor  blot  from  earth  the  Jewish  race  — 

Our  ancient  brotherhood. 

Across  the  seas  we  grasp  a  hand 
That  reaches  down  the  ages  ; 

Still  pointing  to  the  promised  land 
With  all  its  golden  pages. 

A  life  of  love  and  deeds  sublime 
Shall  live  in  song  and  story, 

And  stand  the  test  of  tide  and  time 
Adown  the  aisles  of  glory. 

For  Montefiore  and  his  line 
We  '11  make  the  welkin  ring, 

And  drink  his  health  in  living  wine  - 
Love's  monarch,  prince,  and  king. 

16:J 


THE  WASHINGTON  GIRL. 

I  'm  a  Washington  Girl, 
And  I  live  in  a  whirl 

Of  beauty  and  banter  and  ease ; 
With  a  love  for  mankind, 
And  a  magical  mind, 

I  study  to  praise  and  to  please. 

I  'm  a  Washington  Girl, 
With  an  auburn  curl, 

And  the  light  from  the  flash  of  my  eyes 
Is  as  true  as  the  stars 
That  sparkle  round  Mars, 

And  as  bright  as  the  tropical  skies. 

I  'm  a  Washington  Girl, 
And  I  live  in  a  whirl 

Where  the  palms  and  the  roses  entwine, 
And  one  twist  of  my  fan 
Can  call  any  man 

To  laugh  and  to  love  o'er  the  wine ! 


164 


Tlie  Washington  Qirl" 


MY  OLD  FLAG. 

[To  the  24th  Kentucky  V.  I.,  U.  8.  A.] 

How  you  call  me  back  and  again  renew 
The  marches  and  battles  of  "  Sixty-two  " ; 
When  your  broad  stripes  fluttered  so  bright  and  free 
From  Shiloh  Church  to  the  murmuring  sea! 

That  Sabbath  morning  I  remember  well, 
When  bold  Johnston's  boys,  with  their  rebel  "  yell," 
Rushed  on  our  ranks  like  the  stormy  waves 
And  swept  your  defenders  to  bloody  graves. 

You  rose  and  fell  in  the  front  of  the  fight, 
While  Sherman  held  every  foot  on  the  right, 
And  fought  with  his  men  in  the  wildest  glee 
On  the  banks  of  the  tearing  Tennessee. 

But  the  sun  went  down  on  your  shattered  staff, 
And  your  silken  scars,  like  a  maiden's  laugh. 
Still  fluttered  defiance  so  loud  and  free 
For  a  Nation,  "  Kentuck,"  and  Old  Tennessee. 

Brave  Buell  came  up,  with  his  loyal  band, 
In  the  morning  mist  through  that  swampy  land, 
And  rushed  on  the  foe  at  the  dawn  of  day  — 
With  the  loyal  "  blue  "  o'er  the  rebel  "  gray." 

The  sunset  beams  on  that  April  day 

Brought  gloom  and  defeat  to  the  daring  "  gray  "  ; 

And  now,  to  these  shreds,  I  cling  so  true, 

For  they  waft  me  back  to  old  "  Sixty-two." 

Stone  River  and  Champion  Hills  might  tell 
How  you  stood  so  fast  in  that  smoky  hell ; 
And  flapped  in  the  winds  over  Knoxville  town, 
Where  the  gallant  "  gray  "  tried  to  shoot  you  down. 


167 


Dalton,  Resaca,  and  New  Hope,  too, 
Shattered  the  stars  in  your  field  of  blue, 
And  Kennesaw  lifting  its  brazen  head, 
Poured  fire  and  destruction  o'er  loyal  dead. 

Around  Atlanta  you  fluttered  a  shred, 
Where  McPherson  fell  with  his  soldier  dead  - 
When  Hood  like  a  "  Texas  blizzard  "  came 
To  grasp  for  his  cause  unexpected  fame. 

How  often  you  fell,  how  often  you  rose, 
Like  the  morning  sun,  over  vanquished  foes, 
And  held  your  way  over  mountain  and  lea 
Until  Sherman  camped  by  the  sounding  sea. 


WASHINGTON    MONUMENT. 

Rear  to  the  sky  a  monument  so  grand 
That  it  shall  shine  across  this  mighty  land, 
And  while  the  planets  in  their  cycles  run 
'T  will  tell  the  story  of  great  Washington. 
The  Old  Dominion  claims  his  noble  birth, 
This  Great  Republic  is  his  home  and  hearth, 
While  every  stream  shall  mingle  with  his  name 
And  glorious  battle-fields  prolong  his  fame. 
Lexington  and  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill  — 
Proud  names  that  make  the  patriotic  thrill, 
Who  fight  for  Liberty  in  any  clime, 
And  die  as  martyrs  down  the  change  of  time. 
Old  Monmouth,  and  Trenton,  and  Brandywine, 
Are  links  of  freedom  that  shall  ever  shine 


In-  chains  that  bind  the  love  we  all  transfix 
Around  the  heroes  of  old  "  seventy-six." 
Saratoga,  through  Arnold  and  through  Gates, 
Was  snatched  from  England  by  the  thirteen  States, 
And  Yorktown  capped  the  climax  of  our  cause 
By  stamping  out  the  cruel  British  laws. 
Long  may  we  live  to  hear  the  tale  and  tell 
How  Montgomery  and  his  heroes  fought  and  fell 
Upon  the  frowning  heights  of  old  Quebec, 
A  sacrifice  in  freedom's  glorious  wreck ! 
Old  Ethan  Allen,  and  brave  Warren,  too, 
Bring  back  the  memory  of  the  bold  and  true, 
With  Stark  and  Wayne  and  Marquis  Lafayette, 
And  Green  and  Steuben  that  we  can't  forget ; 
Yet  while  we  praise  the  man  who  lost  or  won, 
The  first  in  all  our  hearts  is  Washington  ; 
Like  some  grand  mountain  shining  from  afar, 
Or  like  the  radiance  of  the  morning  star, 
Spreading  its  silver  light  throughout  the  gloom 
That  gilds  the  glory  of  his  classic  tomb. 
Mount  Vernon  keeps  his  loved  and  sacred  dust  — 
An  urn  of  grief  that  holds  a  nation's  trust, 
Where  pilgrims  bend  along  the  waning  years 
To  gaze  upon  his  grave  through  pearly  tears. 
This  monument  in  coming  years  shall  stand 
A  Mecca  for  the  brave  of  every  land, 
And  while  Potomac  waters  flash  and  flow 
The  fame  of  Washington  shall  gain  and  grow 
Adown  the  ages  through  the  aisles  of  time, 
A  patriot  forever  in  his  prime  ! 
He  broke  the  chains  the  tyrant  had  entwined 
Around  the  body  and  the  fruitful  mind, 
And  though  starvation  reigned  at  Valley  Forge, 
He  crushed  at  last  the  cohorts  of  King  George, 


169 


And  gave  to  every  man  the  right  to  be 

An  equal  in  a  land  where  all  are  free  ! 

The  shafts  that  dot  the  Tiber  and  the  Nile,— 

Great  pyramids  of  stone,  a  pile  on  pile  — 

Still  glorify  some  queen  or  royal  king  ; 

Yet  to  our  sighing  hearts  can  only  bring 

The  march  of  slaves  and  captives  in  their  train  — 

A  triumph  o'er  the  wounded  and  the  slain. 

No  slave  pollutes  our  fatherland  to-day  ; 

Around  this  marble  pile  the  good  can  say, 

And  swear  in  truth  and  faith  at  Freedom's  shrine, 

That  we  are  brothers  of  one  honest  line. 

From  Boston  town  to  Richmond  on  the  James 

Our  record  shines  with  noble,  glorious  names 

Who  fought  and  fell  for  liberty  and  right  — 

A  galaxy  of  heroes  brave  and  bright. 

Let  all  the  nations  of  the  times  and  types' 

Respect  our  flashing  flag  of  stars  and  stripes, 

And  come  across  the  rolling  ocean  foam 

To  make  this  blessed  spot  their  hope  and  home, 

While  fair  Columbia  with  her  outstretched  handp 

Invites  the  good  and  true  of  foreign  lands 

To  help  her  build  a  nation  free  and  great  — 

Equality  the  bed-rock  of  the  State. 

Age  after  age  will  sweep  its  course  away  ; 

The  work  of  man  will  crumble  and  decay  : 

Yet  on  the  tide  of  Time,  from  sun  to  sun, 

Shall  shine  the  glory  of  our  Washington  ; 

And  all  the  stars  that  in  their  orbits  roll 

Around  the  rushing  world  from  pole  to  pole 

Shall  keep  his  name  and  fame  as  true  and  bright 

As  yonder  sparkling  jewels  of  the  night. 


170 


THE  ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 

An  attorney-at-law  lately  put  up  his  shingle, 
And  had  scarcely  enough  of  the  specie  to  jingle. 
He  said  to  himself:  "  I  shall  work  long  and  late 
To  find  a  rich  will  or  a  bankrupt  estate." 

So  he  sat  in  his  office  and  puffed  day  by  day, 
Forming  rings  of  blue  smoke  that  floated  away, 
While,  with  Parsons  and  Kent, and  Blackstone  and  Chitty, 
He  appeared  to  his  neighbors  so  wise  and  so  witty. 

At  length  a  rich  miller,  by  name  Calvin  Brown, 
In  search  of  a  lawyer  came  into  the  town, 
And  spying  a  smoker  he  thought  he  would  pin  him, 
And  marched  up  the  stairs  to  the  office  of  Skin'em. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Brown  to  the  lord  of  the  laws  ; 
"  I  've  come  to  consult  for  the  good  of  my  cause." 
"  Be  seated,"  said  Skin'em  ;  "  I  know  you  '11  be  gainer. 
But  first  I  require,  now,  a  thousand  retainer." 

Brown  stared  in  surprise  at  this  heavy  demand, 
And  said  it  was  more  than  he  felt  he  could  stand  : 
But  the  "  limb  of  the  law  "  a  glance  at  him  flings, 
He  puffed  his  cigar  and  went  on  making  rings. 

The  miller  at  last,  like  the  fly  in  the  fable, 
Was  caught  in  the  web  ;  where,  entirely  unable 
To  cope  with  the  spider  that  bled  him  so  neatly, 
He  gave  up  the  ghost  and  passed  off  completely. 


Skin'em  is  now  the  sole  administrator ; 
And  you  may  be  sure  that,  sooner  or  later, 
The  widow  and  orphans  of  one  Calvin  Brown 
Will  be  out  of  a  home  and  put  on  the  town. 


171 


Then  Skin'em  will  shine  aa  a  brave  lady-killer 

On  plunder  he  filched  from  the  honest  old  miller. 

And  the  people  will  gaze  on  his  rich  turn-out, 

And  say  to  themselves :  "  How  did  this  come  about  ?  " 

Poor  dupes !  you  are  fooled  by  the  gauze  and  the  glitter 
You  begin  with  the  sweet  and  end  with  the  bitter ; 
And  fellows  like  Skin'em  lay  ever  in  wait 
To  pounce  on  the  bones  of  a  crumbling  estate. 

Thus  the  law,  you  must  know,  is  made  for  the  rich. 
And  the  poor,  as  of  old,  are  left  in  the  ditch  ; 
No  matter  what  rights  you  may  have  to  maintain, 
You  '11  lose  in  the  end  should  you  dare  to  "  retain." 

Now  take  my  advice  and  keep  out  of  the  law ; 
For,  once  in  the  toils  of  its  ravenous  maw, 
You  are  sure  to  be  plucked  without  mercy  or  grace 
And  come  out  the  last  at  the  end  of  the  race. 


WYOMING  VALLEY. 
[Wilkesbarre,  Pa.,  May,  1885.] 

From  Prospect  Rock  I  see  afar 
Wyoming  Valley,  green  and  free, 

Still  sparkling  like  the  morning  star  — 
For  labor  and  for  liberty. 

The  Susquehanna  rolls  along 
In  rippling  beauty  through  the  hills, 

Resounding  with  a  forest  song 
And  laughing,  brawling,  shining  rills. 

172 


The  hum  of  labor  fills  the  air, 
The  panting  engine  sweeps  around 

The  upland  slopes,  and  everywhere 
We  wander  o'er  historic  ground. 

Yon  island  blooms  within  a  vale 
Where  crystal  waters  kiss  the  flowers, 

And  every  sound  that  fills  the  gale 
Responds  unto  the  golden  hours. 

'Round  rolling  ridges,  bold  and  high, 
The  fragrant  flowers  of  blooming  May 

Exhale  their  perfume  to  the  sky 
And  give  to  all  a  perfect  day. 

Where  sun  and  stream,  and  brook  and  hill 
Commingle  to  entrance  the  scene, 

And  heart  and  soul  with  rapture  fill 
The  life  and  love  that  lie  between. 


WEDDING  BELLS. 

[Katie's  tribute,  May  13,  1879.] 

Ring  out,  glad  bells  ;  ring  out,  I  say  ! 
This  is  the  Golden  Wedding  Day  ; 
Ring  happy  chimes  to  bring  those  near 
Who  love  the  homestead  fond  and  dear. 

Ring  loud  !  ring  strong  !  to  bring  the  throng 

Of  all  who  to  this  home  belong  ; 

Bring  here  the  happy  and  the  sad, 

For  each  will  make  these  fond  hearts  glad. 

Ring  !  ring  !  I  say  ;  that  far  away 
Loved  ones  will  hear  what  't  is  you  say  ; 

173 


Ring  once  again  to  guide  them  here, 
To  emile  upon  this  golden  cheer. 

Ring  fifty  strokes  in  golden  tone  ! 
For  work  of  fifty  years  well  done  ; 
Ring  fifty  strokes  !    Each  stroke  attest, 
Father,  mother,  each  were  best. 

Ring  for  the  past,  the  future  too, 
To  pledges  we  this  day  renew  ; 
Ring  for  our  father,  mother  dear, 
We  pledge  them  with  affection's  tear. 


THERE  'S  NO  POCKET  IN  A  SHROUD  ! 

[On  the  death  of  a  millionaire.] 

You  must  leave  your  many  million? 

And  the  gay  and  festive  crowd  ; 
Though  you  roll  in  royal  billions, 

There  's  no  pocket  in  a  shroud. 

Whether  pauper,  prince  or  peasant  ; 

Whether  rich  or  poor  or  proud  — 
Remember  that  there  is  n't 

Any  pocket  in  a  shroud. 

You  '11  have  all  this  world  of  glory 
With  a  record  long  and  loud, 

And  a  name  in  song  and  story, 
But  no  pocket  in  your  shroud. 

80  be  gen'rous  with  your  riches, 
Neither  vain,  nor  cold,  nor  proud, 

And  you  '11  gain  the  golden  niches 
In  a  clime  without  a  cloud  ! 


174 


THE  WHISPERING  TREES. 

Oh,  the  whispering  trees,  what  tales  they  tell 

Of  a  hundred  years  ago, 
How  they  sprung  from  the  secret  acorn  shell, 

Near  the  homestead  sweet  and  low. 

The  father  and  mother  have  gone  to  rest, 

But  the  childish  glee  of  yore 
Still  sounds  and  sings  with  a  rollicking  jest, 

Round  palace  and  cottage  door. 

The  boy  and  the  girl,  the  woman  and  man, 
Have  come  and  gone  like  a  dream, 

But  the  trees  that  have  more  than  human  plan. 
Tattle  their  tale  to  the  stream. 

A  tongue  in  each  leaf,  a  voice  in  each  limb, 

Tells  me  the  old,  old  story 
That  fond  love  and  truth  are  always  with  Him, 

Great  in  His  power  and  glory. 

Then  whisper  away  in  the  summer  time, 

Sing  the  song  of  creation, 
The  orchestral  chime  of  these  ancient  trees 

Tells  the  tale  of  a  nation. 


MASONIC  BRIGHT  LIGHT. 

Here  's  the  Templar  Knights  from  the  East  and  the  West. 

Children,  children,  won't  you  follow  ine  ? 
From  the  North  and  the  South  we  all  march  abreast . 

Halle,  halle,  halle,  hallelujah  ! 


175 


No  more  do  we  march  as  the  Gray  or  the  Blue, 
Children,  children,  won't  you  follow  me? 

But  our  plumes  are  white  and  our  hearte  are  true, 
Halle,  halle,  halle,  hallelujah  ! 


In  the  morning,  in  the  morning  by  the  bright  light, 
When  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet  in  the  morning. 

As  a  warrior  band  we  march  to  the  fight, 

Children,  children,  won't  you  follow  me? 
Our  swords  shall  flash  in  the  cause  of  right, 

Halle,  halle,  halle,  hallelujah  ! 
The  poor  and  the  weak  we  are  pledged  to  protect, 

Children,  children,  won't  you  follow  me? 
We  are  Christian  men  without  any  sect, 

Halle,  halle,  halle,  hallelujah  ! 

Then  up  with  the  cross,  and  a  cheer  for  the  crown  ! 

Children,  children,  won't  you  follow  me  ? 
The  Crescent  of  the  Pagan  is  almost  down, 

Halle,  halle,  halle,  hallelujah  ! 
Then  hurrah  for  the  girl  that  we  all  love  best! 

Children,  children,  won't  you  follow  me? 
From  the  North,  the  South,  the  East  and  the  West, 

Halle,  halle,  halle,  hallelujah  ! 

¥¥ 

MY  WAR-HORSE,  "  BOB." 

[In  memory  of  Col.  Chas.  D.  Pennybacker's  pet.] 

Farewell,  farewell,  my  beautiful  bay! 

Sadly  I  sigh  for  your  loss  to-day  ; 

My  thoughts  go  back  to  the  long  ago, 

Where  we  tramped  and  fought  with  the  deadly  foe. 

176 


Of  all  the  friends  that  I  ever  knew, 
None  served  me  so  kind,  so  brave  and  true. 
Ah  !  how  shall  I  tune  this  nameless  lay 
In  memory  of  my  dear  old  bay  ? 

No  bugle  note  shall  ever  again 
Call  thee  to  muster  on  hill  or  plain, 
Where  passion  and  pelf  cause  men  to  bleed  ; 
No  more  shall  I  ride  my  gallant  steed. 

In  the  days  of  war,  when  blood  flowed  free, 
We  campaigned  together,  you  and  me  ; 
Now  who  can  blame  me  to  grieve  and  sob 
For  losing  my  friend,  my  war-horse,  "  Bob  ? 

Brave  comrades  have  fallen  by  my  side  ; 
In  the  battle-ranks  they  fought  and  died  ; 
Yet  even  these  heroes,  young  or  gray, 
Were  not  more  prized  than  my  noble  bay. 


THE  BOAST  OF  BACCHUS. 

I  reign  over  land,  I  reign  over  sea, 

The  proudest  of  earth  I  bring  to  my  knee 

As  weak  as  a  child  in  the  midnight  of  care  ; 

The  prince  and  the  peasant  I  strip  bleak  and  bare. 

A  taste  of  my  blood  sends  a  thrill  to  the  heart, 
And  speeds  through  the  soul  like  a  poisonous  dart  ; 
While  I  leave  it  a  wreck  of  trouble  and  pain 
That  never  on  earth  can  be  perfect  again. 

The  youth  in  his  bloom  and  the  man  in  his  might 
I  capture  by  day  and  I  conquer  by  night  ; 
The  maid  and  the  matron  respond  to  my  call  ; 
I  rule  like  a  tyrant  and  ride  over  all. 


177 


In  the  gilded  saloon  and  glittering  crowd 
I  deaden  the  senses  and  humble  the  proud, 
And  tear  from  the  noble,  the  good,  and  the  great 
The  love  and  devotion  of  home,  church,  and  state. 

I  blast  all  the  honor  that  manhood  holds  dear ; 
I  smile  with  delight  at  the  eight  of  a  tear  ; 
And  laugh  in  the  revel  and  rout  of  a  night  — 
My  mission  on  earth  is  to  blur  and  to  blight. 

I  ruin  the  homes  of  the  high  and  the  low  ; 
I  blast  every  hope  of  the  friend  and  the  foe  ; 
The  world  I  sear  with  my  blistering  breath, 
And  millions  I  lead  to  the  portals  of  death. 

In  the  parlor  and  dance-house  I  sparkle  and  roar 
Like  billows  that  break  on  a  wild,  rocky  shore  ; 
I  crush  every  virtue,  destroy  every  truth, 
That  blossoms  in  beauty  or  blushes  in  youth, 

My  power  is  mighty  for  sin  and  despair  ; 
I  crouch,  like  a  lion  that  waits  in  his  lair, 
To  mangle  the  life  of  the  pure  and  the  brave, 
And  drag  them  in  sorrow  to  shame  and  the  grave 


FAR  DOWN  THE  LANE. 

Far  down  the  lane  I  see  again 

A  school-girl  and  a  boy  ; 
They  skip  along  with  laugh  and  song 

In  all  their  youthful  joy. 

The  flowers  bloom  with  sweet  perfume. 

And  everything  is  gay  ; 
This  happy  pair,  devoid  of  care, 

Clasp  hands  in  sunny  May. 

178 


The  years  pass  on,  their  youth  is  gone, 
Yet  still  they  cling  together  ; 

While  strands  of  gray,  from  day  to  day, 
Proclaim  the  wintry  weather. 

But  in  their  eyes  those  love-lit  skies 
Come  back  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

And  shine  as  blue  on  hearts  as  true 
As  those  far  down  the  lane. 

Thus,  one  by  one,  when  we  are  gone. 

In  sunshine  and  in  rain, 
The  girls  and  boys  will  have  their  joy? 

In  skipping  down  the  lane. 


A  FIRESIDE  MEMORY. 

She  's  gone,  yet  memory  unconfined 
Has  reared  a  temple  in  my  heart 

Where  all  her  virtues  are  enshrined  — 
That  never  from  my  soul  depart. 

Her  voice,  like  music  low  and  sweet, 
Could  soothe  me  in  the  deepest  woe 

How  willing  were  her  flying  feet 
To  serve  me  in  the  long  ago. 

Her  face,  like  yonder  bank  of  flowers, 
Shone  brightly  o'er  me  near  and  far 

Lit  up  my  life  in  lonely  hours  — 
My  truest  friend,  my  polar  star. 

No  more  those  footsteps  run  to  greet 
My  lagging  moments  night  or  day  ; 

We  never  more  on  earth  shall  meet  — 
My  joys  with  her  have  passed  away. 

179 


Her  image  hangs  on  yonder  wall, 
Still  speaking  of  the  olden  time 

When  she  to  me  was  all  in  all. 
And  love  was  in  its  early  prime. 

Now  bending  o'er  the  smoldering  fire 
I  see  the  shadows  come  and  go, 

While  one  by  one  the  sparks  expire, 
And  flake  by  flake  comes  down  the  sno\ 

Bat  through  the  gloom  I  always  see 
A  ray  of  that  dear  vanished  light, 

And  memory  fondly  brings  to  me 
Her  image  ever  pure  and  bright. 


OL'  KENTUCKY  HOME. 

As  sung  by  "  Uncle  Rastus  "  after  the  War 

Dar  de  walnut  an'  de  maple, 
An'  de  locus'  an'  de  ash, 

Spread  dar  shaders  o'er  de  meddera  fresh  an*  green : 
An'  ol'  massa  does  n't  torture 
Wid  de  ra'hide  or  de  lash  — 
An'  de  bleeden  backs  shall  neber  more  be  seen. 


Smile  some  mo',  me  lady, 

Larf  some  mo'  to-day ; 
For  de  sun  still  shines 
In  our  ol'  Kentucky  home, 

In  dat  ol'  Kentucky  home,  far  away. 

180 


"An'  de  darkies  now  am  happy  all  de  day  " 


Oh,  de  coon  an'  'possum  chatter 
In  de  moonlight  as  of  yore, 

An'  de  darkies  now  am  happy  all  de  day, 
While  de  pickaninnies  tumble 
On  de  cabin  puncheon  flo', 
An'  Aunt  Dinah  sings  and  laughs  her  life  away. 

An'  de  mockin'  bird  am  singin' 
Wid  de  red  bird  in  de  brush, 

And  de  bee  is  hummin'  songs  among  de  flowers, 
While  de  fishes  in  de  brook 
Jump  at  eb'ry  bait  and  hook, 

An'  de  squirrel  cracks  de  nuts  in  sunny  hours. 

Dar  de  hosses  run  like  lightnen, 
While  de  mules  dey  kick  up  high  ; 

An'  de  gals  am  de  purtyest  eber  seen  ; 
Whar  de  cattle  in  de  pastures 
Am  de  fattest  on  de  erf, 

An'  de  foxes  is  so  cunnin',  smart  an'  keen. 

Take  me  back  to  ol'  Kentucky, 
Whar  dis  darkey  dar  was  born ; 

To  de  blue  grass  an'  dat  hebbenly,  sunny  sky, 
Whar  de  Bo'rbon  juice  am  runnin 
An  ol'  massa  still  goes  gunnin' ; 

Oh !  dar,  Good  Laud,  let  "  Uncle  Rastua  "  die  ! 


AMONG  THE  HILLS. 

Among  the  hills  where  summer  rills 
Come  leaping  o'er  the  grasses, 

I  hear  the  glee  from  tree  to  tree 
And  see  the  lads  and  lasses. 

183 


The  laughing  noise  of  girls  and  boys 

Awakens  youthful  dreaming 
Of  long  ago,  with  joy  and  woe, 

And  many  bright  eyes  beaming. 

But  now,  to-day,  my  hair  is  gray, 
The  wrinkles  o'er  me  creeping ; 

My  youth  is  past,  and  here  at  last 
I  'm  left  to  silent  weeping. 

But  memory  clings  and  love  still  sings 

Among  the  hills  of  childhood 
The  tunes  I  knew  when  friends  were  true, 

And  pleasure  ruled  the  wild  wood. 

Laugh  on,  sweet  youth,  with  love  and  truth, 

Be  happy  without  measure, 
While  song  and  rhyme  can  kill  old  Time 

And  youth  remains  a  treasure. 

¥¥ 

UNKNOWN. 

I  gazed  on  the  babe  at  its  mother's  breast, 

And  asked  for  the  secret  of  life  and  rest; 

It  turned  with  a  smile  that  was  sad  and  lone, 

And  murmured  in  dreaming,  "  Unknown,  unknown  ! 

I  challenged  the  youth  so  bold  and  so  brave, 

To  tell  me  the  tale  of  the  lonely  grave ; 

But  he  sung  of  pleasure  in  musical  tone, 

And  his  echoing  voice  replied, "  Unknown,  unknown ! 

Then  I  questioned  the  gray-haired  man  of  years, 
Whose  face  was  furrowed  with  thoughts  and  tears ; 


184 


And  he  paused  in  his  race  to  simply  groan 

The  soul-chilling  words:    "  Unknown,  unknown  ! " 

I  asked  the  lover,  the  poet  and  sage  — 
In  every  clime  and  in  every  age  — 
To  tell  me  the  truth,  and  candidly  own 
If  after  life  it  is  all  unknown. 

I  soared  like  the  lark  to  the  boundless  sky, 
Sighed  in  my  soul  for  the  how  and  the  why ; 
The  angels  were  singing  and  just  had  flown; 
I  heard  but  the  echo,  "  Unknown,  unknown ! " 

I  read  in  the  hills  and  saw  in  the  rocks 

A  lesson  that  told  of  the  earthquake  shocks ; 

I  gazed  at  the  stars  from  a  mountain  cone, 

But  they  only  answered,  "  Unknown,  unknown ! " 

Thus  am  I  tortured  by  fear  and  by  doubts, 

In  tracing  the  way  where  so  many  routes 

Are  ever  in  view,  and  quickly  are  flown, 

And  all  that  I  know  is  — "  Unknown,  unknown  ! " 

At  last  I  determined  to  surely  find 
All  hope  and  all  bliss  in  my  mystic  mind  ; 
But  just  as  sweet  peace  came  to  soothe  me  alone, 
The  wild  witch  of  doubt  shrieked,  "  Unknown, 
unknown ! " 

The  sun  and  the  moon,  the  winds  and  the  wave, 
May  perish  in  time  and  sink  to  the  grave; 
The  temples  of  earth  shall  fall,  stone  by  stone, 
And  mortals  still  wail  out,  "  Unknown,  unknown ! 


185 


A   FRIEND. 

A  friend  is  one  who  knows  your  fault. 
And  knowing  dares  to  chide  you  ; 

Who  blisters  wrong  with  Attic  salt 
And  still  sticks  close  beside  you. 

A  friend  is  one  who  lifts  you  up 
When  sin  and  sorrow  hover, 

Then  casts  aside  the  bitter  cup 
And  takes  you  under  cover. 

A  friend  is  one  whose  words  are  true. 

Whose  purse  in  joy  or  trouble 
Is  ever  open  unto  you  ; 

Whose  heart  can  not  play  double. 

A  friend  is  one  who  bends  alone 
Above  your  nameless  tomb, 

And  keeps  your  memory  all  her  own 
As  flowers  in  full  bloom. 


LET   ME   REST. 

Let  me  rest  where  sunlight  lingers, 
'Neath  the  waving  willow  shade, 

Where  the  morn  with  dewy  fingers 
Sprinkles  diamonds  o'er  the  glade. 

Where  the  little  birds  are  singing 
O'er  the  flowers  above  my  tomb, 

And  the  matin  bells  are  ringing 
Mortals  to  celestial  bloom  ! 

186 


A    CONUNDRUM. 

Who  keeps  the  ocean  in  motion  ? 

I  asked  of  the  passing  breeze ; 
It  only  gave  back  for  answer 

The  sigh  of  the  sounding  seas. 

And  who  keeps  the  stars  still  shining, 
Far  up  in  the  boundless  blue ; 

And  ocean  and  earth  reclining 
Under  the  sun  and  the  dew  ? 

And  who  keeps  the  world  still  going 
Through  cycles  of  plodding  years ; 

Where  death  is  reaping  our  sowing 
And  joy  is  mingled  with  tears  ? 
I  give  it  up. 


BOAST   NOT. 

Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow, 

All  of  this  life  is  to-day ; 
Joy  is  still  mingled  with  sorrow  — 

Loved  ones  are  passing  away. 

Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow, 
Its  flowers  and  its  fortune  will  fade  ; 

Why  should  we  stop,  then,  to  borrow 
The  trouble  that  each  heart  has  made ' 

Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow, 
This  life  is  a  span  and  a  breath  ; 

How  cold,  how  damp,  and  how  narrow  - 
The  portals  that  point  us  to  death. 

187 


Boast  not,  take  heed  lest  thou  fall, 
Vain  pride  is  the  runner  of  fate  ; 

The  grave  grass  shall  grow  o'er  us  all  — 
The  worst  or  the  best  of  the  state 

Boast  not  of  this  flitting  hour; 

It  speeds  like  a  bird  in  its  flight  — 
Frail  as  the  dew  on  a  flower, 

Bleak  as  the  darkness  of  night. 

Boast  not  when  pleasure  surrounds  thee, 
Where  mirth  lights  the  garish  saloon  ; 

All  of  its  flash  will  confound  thee, 
And  leave  thee  in  sorrow  too  soon. 

Boast  not  at  all,  but  be  humble ; 

Do  good  for  the  sake  of  the  good  ; 
All  that  are  human  must  stumble, 

And  each  heart  has  done  as  it  could. 


REST. 

[In  memory  of  General  O.  E.  Babcock,  U.  S.  A.] 

Rest,  soldier,  rest  beneath  the  sod  — 
Mortality  has  gone  to  God  ; 
Thy  battles  o'er,  all  trials  past  — 
Peace  to  your  ashes,  rest  at  last. 

The  coming  years  will  always  tell 
You  did  your  duty  nobly  —  well  — 
And  faced  the  storm  when  others  fled; 
But  now,  alas,  dear  friend,  you're  dead. 

188 


Sweet  be  the  flowers  above  your  tomb, 
Let  honor  in  eternal  bloom 
Entwine  the  ivy  o'er  thy  dust  — 
An  evergreen  of  love  and  trust. 

The  Capital  you  made  so  bright, 
Shall  ever  think  you  good  and  right: 
While  coming  years  shall  sound  thy  praise, 
And  memory  to  thy  image  raise. 

A  marble  shaft,  to  tell  all  time 
That  Genius  reigns  in  every  clime; 
And  man,  at  last,  is  always  just, 
Because  he  loves  and  lives  to  trust. 

While  ocean  billows  toss  and  roar 
Against  the  great  Atlantic  shore, 
Your  memory  in  our  hearts  shall  be 
Pure  as  the  foam  upon  the  sea. 

Rest,  soldier,  rest  ;  brave  heart,  be  still  ; 
You  rest  in  peace  on  yon  Oak  Hill, 
A  brother  to  the  silent  clod  — 
Rest,  soldier,  rest  in  peace  with  God  ! 


SHADOWS   ON  THE  WALL. 

The  maple  grows  in  beauty  outside  my  classic  hall, 
Its  branches  kiss  my  windows,  and  shadows  climb  the  wall  ; 
They  flit  in  fairy  dances  where  Zephyr  plays  his  tune, 
And  birds  of  brightest  plumage  sing  all  the  airs  of  June. 

The  sunlight  and  the  shadows  that  intermingle  here 
Bring  pictures  of  the  faces,  ever  pure  and  very  dear. 
That  thrilled  my  heart  in  childhood  when  life  was  fresh 

and  true, 
And  every  changing  shadow  brought  pleasure  to  my  view. 


The  leaves  upon  the  maple  are  dancing  light  and  free, 
They  limn  their  loving  features  in  the  halls  of  memory ; 
And  as  they  murmur  gayly  to  entrance  my  rural  scene, 
They  bring  back  cheering  voices  with  a  chorus  in  between. 

The  shadows  of  the  comrades  I  loved  in  long  ago 
Are  flitting  in  my  vision;  their  faces  well  I  know ; 
And  from  the  roar  of  battle  I  hear  their  voices  rise, 
To  mingle  with  our  triumph  and  echo  in  the  skies. 

And  in  the  hall  of  memory,  engraven  fond  and  dear, 
The  shadow  of  my  True  Love  appears  from  year  to  year ; 
The  maple  never  murmurs  but  I  hear  her  magic  rune — 
A  rose  of  radiant  beauty  that  I  lost  in  jealous  June! 


THE  LOST  ATLANTIS. 

[Dedicated  to  Ignatius  Donnelly.] 

The  night  of  ages  is  passing  away, 
Yet  the  dawn  of  Atlantis  shines  afar, 

Where  the  mind  of  man  like  a  perfect  day 
Beams  out  on  the  earth  like  a  morning  star. 

There  in  nothing  new,  there  is  nothing  old, 
In  this  beautiful  world  so  fresh  and  free ; 

The  mountains  are  filled  with  silver  and  gold 
As  they  came  from  the  hand  of  Destiny. 

The  hills  and  the  vales  will  blossom  in  spring, 
The  ocean  will  roar  with  a  sullen  cry ; 

Old  Time  in  his  flight,  with  a  restless  wing, 
Shall  whir  o'er  the  dead  without  pity  or  sigh 

190 


So  the  sun  will  rise  and  the  sun  will  set, 
And  stare  will  bejewel  the  upper  blue, 

And  the  earthquake  shock  like  a  gaping  net 
Will  swallow  together  the  false  and  true. 

I  hear  a  voice  o'er  the  rolling  deep, 
And  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  far-off  shore, 

Where  men  and  women  will  never  weep, 
In  the  new  Atlantis,  forevermore. 


LET'S   DRINK   TO-NIGHT. 

Let's  drink  to-night  while  stars  are  bright, 

And  banish  every  sorrow  ; 
And  hope  W  see,  for  you  and  me. 

A  glorious  to-morrow. 

Fill  up  the  bowl  and  thrill  the  soul 
With  wine  of  Love  and  Beauty ; 

Whate'er  you  do,  be  always  true, 
And  bravely  do  your.duty. 

Laugh  with  the  gay  from  day  to  day, 
Grieve  not  for  vanished  pleasure, 

The  present  time  we'll  tune  to  rhyme 
And  grasp  it  as  a  treasure. 


Cheer  up,  cheer  up !  let's  fill  the  cup, 
And  drink  to  beaming  eyes, 

That  on  us  shine  through  rosy  wine, 
Like  stars  in  yonder  skies. 

191 


WHERE  IS  GOD  TO-DAY? 

[Thia  question  was  asked  by  the  flve-yc«ir-o1d  child  of  General  Thomas 
L.  Kosser,  Virginia.] 

A  bine-eyed  boy,  while  sporting  at  his  play, 
Asked  this  question,  Pa,  where  is  God  to-day? 

The  man  of  years  and  thought  could  not  reply, 
And  only  answered  by  the  saddest  sigh. 

The  greatest  pages  of  the  olden  time 
Have  asked  this  question  of  the  earth  and  sky; 

But  never  yet,  in  any  land  or  clime, 
Has  man  been  satisfied  with  the  reply. 

We  build  great  temples  to  the  God  we  make, 
And  worship  something  till  we're  old  and  gray  ; 

But  from  the  aching  heart  we  can  not  take 
The  simple  question  —  Where  is  God  to-day? 

Perhaps  the  little  child  might  tell  us  now, 
Where  God  in  all  his  power  reigns  on  high, 

Where  wreaths  immortal  crown  the  boyish  brow, 
And  worlds  unnumbered  shine  beyond  the  sky. 


THE  HOG. 

[Dedicated  to  You  No  Who.] 

Oh !  look  at  the  hog,  the  great  he  hog ; 

You  can  see  him  near  or  far  ; 
He  seems  like  a  bog  or  a  water-log  — 

The  hog  in  the  railroad  car ! 

Then  look  at  the  little,  snug  she  hog, 

As  she  tries  to  be  on  a  par 
With  the  big  he  hog,  and  the  other  hogs, 

That  ride  in  the  crowded  car  ! 

192 


Just  gaze  at  the  hog,  the  round,  fat  hog, 
With  his  snout  'neath  THE  EVENING  STAR; 

He  spreads  o'er  the  seat  with  hands  and  feet  • 
The  hog  in  the  Avenue  car ! 

Oh  !  happy  old  hog,  full  of  gall  and  grog, 
You  may  grunt  and  wriggle  and  sigh  ; 

Yet  I  would  n't  be  sad,  but  really  glad, 
If  the  street-car  hog  would  die ! 


VICTOR  HUGO. 

Stout  heart,  good  man,  no  pomp  or  state 
Can  gild  thy  pure  renown  — 

Thy  life  was  moulded  pure  and  great  — 
Le-Grande  in  field  or  town. 

Hater  of  shams,  lover  of  right  — 

A  patriot  sublime  — 
A  man  who  ruled  by  love,  not  might, 

And  wrote  for  all  of  time. 

Thy  memory,  like  a  sweet  perfume, 

Shall  shine  along  the  ages  ; 
Be  fadeless  as  immortal  bloom, 

Or  like  thy  golden  pages, 

Where  love  and  truth  are  intertwined ; 

Nobility  its  plan  — 
Great  royalty  of  heart  and  mind, 

You  lived  for  God  and  man  ! 


193 


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